The others reached the house and watched Dad make from the back-door.
Mother called to him to "Run, run!" Poor Dad! He was running. Paddy
Maloney was joyful. He danced about and laughed vociferously at the hail
bouncing off Dad. Once Dad staggered--a hail-boulder had struck him
behind the ear--and he looked like dropping. Paddy hit himself on the
leg, and vehemently invited Dave to "Look, LOOK at him!" But Dad battled
along to the haystack, buried his head in it, and stayed there till the
storm was over--wriggling and moving his feet as though he were tramping
chaff.
Shingles were dislodged from the roof of the house, and huge hailstones
pelted in and put the fire out, and split the table, and fell on the sofa
and the beds.
Rain fell also, but we did n't catch any in the cask--the wind blew the
spout away. It was a curled piece of bark. Nevertheless, the storm did
good. We did n't lose ALL the potatoes. We got SOME out of them. We had
them for dinner one Sunday.
CHAPTER XXIII.
The Agricultural Reporter.
It had been a dull, miserable day, and a cold westerly was blowing. Dave
and Joe were at the barn finishing up for the day.
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