k the glass." Mrs.
Babcock herself, her face screwed tightly against an onslaught of
wind and hail, shut the blinds, and the room was again plunged in
darkness. "We'll have to stan' it," said she. "Mis' Field don't want
her windows all broke in. That's dreadful sharp."

Thunder shook the house like an explosion. The women looked at each
other with awed faces.

"Where is your mother? Why don't she come in here?" Mrs. Babcock
asked excitedly of Lois returning from the bedroom.

"She's gone berrying," replied Lois, feebly. She sank into a chair.

"Gone berryin'!" screamed Mrs. Babcock, and the other women echoed
her.

"Yes'm."

"When did she go?"

"Right after dinner."

"Right after dinner, an' she ain't got home yet! Out in this awful
tempest! Well, she'll be killed. You'll never see her again, that's
all. A berry pasture is the most dangerous place in creation in a
thunder-shower. Out berryin' in all this hail an' thunder an'
lightnin'!"

Mrs. Green pressed close up to Lois. "Ain't you any idea where she's
gone?" said she. "If you have, I'll jest slip off my dress skirt, an'
you give me an old shawl, an' I'll go with you an' see if we can't
find her."

"I'll go, too," cried Amanda. "Don't you know which way they went,
Lois?"

Just then the south side-door slammed sharply.

"She's come," said Lois, in a strained voice.

"Well, I'm thankful!" cried Mrs. Green. "Hadn't you better run out
an' help her off with her wet things, Lois?"

But the sitting-room door opened, and Mrs. Field stood there, a tall
black shadow hardly shaped out from the gloom. The women all arose
and hurried toward her. There was a shrill flurry of greeting. Mrs.
Field's voice arose high and terrified above it.

"Who is it?" she cried out. "Who's here?"

"Why, your old neighbors, Mrs. Field. Don't you know us--Mandy an'
Mis' Green an' Mis' Babcock? We come down on an excursion ticket to
Boston--only three dollars an' sixty cents--an' we thought we'd
surprise you."

"Ain't you dreadful wet, Mis' Field?" interposed Mrs. Green's
solicitous voice.

"You'd better go and change your dress," said Amanda.

"When did you come?" said Mrs. Field.

"Jest now. For the land sakes, Mis' Field, your dress is soppin' wet!
Do go an' change it, or you'll catch your death of cold."

Mrs. Field did not stir. The hail pelted on the windows. "Now, you go
right along an' change it," cried Mrs. Babcock.

"Well," said Mrs. Field vaguely, "mebbe I'