A Northeast Storm. 167 



very truth, a northeast storm is not, or very sel- 

 dom, indeed, found to be much more serious a 

 matter than when woman turns man's comfort 

 out of doors and him along with it, when clean- 

 ing house. That is an abomination, comparable 

 only to a Western blizzard or some huge tidal 

 wave of the Pacific. But, happily, just as the 

 newly cleaned house has a freshness about it 

 that the most crabbed old bachelor is forced to 

 admit, so Nature wears a fresher face and the air 

 is clearer, as with the last drops of the dismal 

 storm comes a brightening of the western sky 

 as the day closes. Even in November this is 

 an hour to be remembered, an hour of bril- 

 liant color, of bird song, of general rejoicing. 

 Even the naked trees shake their gaunt sides 

 and exult that the northeast wind is a thing of 

 the past and restful quiet is now at hand, the 

 quiet and comfort of drowsy, hazy sunshine, 

 where the greatest voluntary effort is to dream 

 of the many gains and few losses of the de- 

 parted summer. It is worth being all day out 

 of doors, yet at the time I never think so, 

 however violent the storm, that we may be in 

 at its death and mark the progress of the new 



