THE MISSING TOOTH 



93 



long night is but just begun. The storm is increas- 

 ing. The wind shrieks about the house, whirling the 

 ine snow in hissing eddies past the corners and 

 Iriving it on into long, curling crests across the 

 fields. I can hear the roar as the wind strikes the 

 shoal of pines where the fields roll into the woods 

 a vast surf sound, but softer and higher, with a 

 wail like the wail of some vast heart in pain. 



I can see the tall trees rock and sway with their 

 'burden of dark forms. As close together as they can 

 crowd on the bending limbs cling the crows, their- 

 breasts turned all to the storm. With crops empty 

 and bodies weak, they rise and fall in the cutting, 

 ice-filled wind for thirteen hours of night. 



Is it a wonder that the life fires burn low? that 

 sometimes the small flames flicker and go out ? 





