with cloud now; the great breadth of grain had faded
to a leaden hue, the prairie to shadowy gray. The wind had dropped,
the air was tense and still; a strange, impressive silence brooded over
everything.

Presently Edgar looked up at the clouds.

"They must break at last," he said. "One can't help thinking of what
they hold--endless carloads of grain, wads of dollar bills for the
storekeepers, prosperity for three big provinces. It's much the same
weather right along to the Rockies."

"I wasn't considering the three provinces," said George.

"No," retorted Edgar. "Your attention was confined to the improvement
the rain would make in Sylvia Marston's affairs. You're looking
forward to sending her a big check after harvest."

"So far, it has looked more like facing a big deficit."

"You mean your facing it."

George frowned.

"Sylvia has nothing except this land."

"It strikes me she's pretty fortunate, in one way. You find the
working capital and bear the loss, if there is one. I wonder what
arrangements you made about dividing a surplus."

"That," said George, "is a thing I've no intention of discussing with
anybody but my co-trustee."

Edgar smiled; he had hardly expected to elicit much information upon
the point, having failed to do so once or twice already.

"Well," he said, "I believe we'll see the rain before an hour has
passed."

Soon after he had spoken, a flash leaped from overhead and the prairie
was flooded with dazzling radiance. It was followed by a roll of
thunder, and a roar as the rain came down. For a few moments the dust
whirled up and there was a strong smell of earth; then the air was
filled with falling water. George stood still in the deluge,
rejoicing, while the great drops lashed his upturned face, until Edgar
laughingly pushed him toward the house.

"As I'm wet through, I think I'll go to bed. At last, you can rest
content."

George, following his example, lay down with a deep sense of
thankfulness. His cares had gone, the flood that roared against the
board walls had banished them. Now that relief had come, he felt
strangely weary, and in a few minutes he was sound asleep. He did not
hear the thunder, which broke out again, nor feel the house shake in
the rush of icy wind that suddenly followed; the ominous rattle on roof
and walls, different from and sharper than the lashing of the rain,
began and died away unnoticed by him. He was wrapped in the deep,
heali