should know. Not that I am superstitious, 

 though I should have been had I lived when the 

 land was all swamp and wood and prairie 5 and 

 I should be now were I a sailor. My boat slipped 

 swiftly along under the thick-shadowing trees, 

 and rounding a sharp bend, brought me to the 

 open pond, to the sky, and to a sight that ex- 

 plained my disquietude. The west, half-way to 

 the zenith, was green— the black-and-blue green 

 of bruised flesh. Out of it shot a fork of light- 

 ning, and behind it rumbled muffled thunder. 



There was no time to descend the pond. I 

 could already hear the wind across the silence 

 and suspense. It was one of the supreme mo- 

 ments of the summer. The very trees seemed 

 breathless and awe-struck. Pushing quickly 

 to the wooded shore, I drew out the boat, turned 

 it over, and crawled under it just as the leaves 

 stirred with the first cool, wet breath. 



There was an instant's lull, a tremor through 

 the ground ; then the rending and crunching of 

 the wind monster in the oaks, the shriek of the 

 forest victim— and the wind was gone. The 

 rain followed with fearful violence, the lightning 

 sizzled and cracked among the trees, and the 

 [140] 



