The house quivered,
and still the wind howled and whistled through the adjoining bark-hut.
"Connie, darling, have they left you alone?" I said.
"Only for a few minutes, papa. I don't mind it."
"Don't he frightened at the storm, my dear. He who could walk on the sea
of Galilee, and still the storm of that little pool, can rule the Atlantic
just as well. Jeremiah says he 'divideth the sea when the waves thereof
roar.'"
The same moment Dora came running into the room.
"Papa," she cried, "the spray--such a lot of it--came dashing on the
windows in the dining-room. Will it break them?"
"I hope not, my dear. Just stay with Connie while I run down."
"O, papa! I do want to see."
"What do you want to see, Dora?"
"The storm, papa."
"It is as black as pitch. You can't see anything."
"O, but I want to--to--be beside it."
"Well, you sha'n't stay with Connie, if you are not willing. Go along. Ask
Wynnie to come here."
The child was so possessed by the commotion without that she did not
seem even to see my rebuke, not to say feel it.
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