it
indescribably menacing as it gloomed up in the clear blue sky; now and
again a bolt of lightning shot across it, followed by a savage growl. It
hung so low that it almost seemed to be touching the tops of the wooded
hills.

Mr. Harmon Andrews came clattering up the hill in his truck wagon,
urging his team of grays to their utmost speed. He pulled them to a halt
opposite the school.

"Guess Uncle Abe's hit it for once in his life, Anne," he shouted. "His
storm's coming a leetle ahead of time. Did ye ever see the like of that
cloud? Here, all you young ones, that are going my way, pile in, and
those that ain't scoot for the post office if ye've more'n a quarter of
a mile to go, and stay there till the shower's over."

Anne caught Davy and Dora by the hands and flew down the hill, along the
Birch Path, and past Violet Vale and Willowmere, as fast as the twins'
fat legs could go. They reached Green Gables not a moment too soon and
were joined at the door by Marilla, who had been hustling her ducks and
chickens under shelter. As they dashed into the kitchen the light seemed
to vanish, as if blown out by some mighty breath; the awful cloud rolled
over the sun and a darkness as of late twilight fell across the world.
At the same moment, with a crash of thunder and a blinding glare of
lightning, the hail swooped down and blotted the landscape out in one
white fury.

Through all the clamor of the storm came the thud of torn branches
striking the house and the sharp crack of breaking glass. In three
minutes every pane in the west and north windows was broken and the
hail poured in through the apertures covering the floor with stones, the
smallest of which was as big as a hen's egg. For three quarters of an
hour the storm raged unabated and no one who underwent it ever forgot
it. Marilla, for once in her life shaken out of her composure by sheer
terror, knelt by her rocking chair in a corner of the kitchen, gasping
and sobbing between the deafening thunder peals. Anne, white as paper,
had dragged the sofa away from the window and sat on it with a twin on
either side. Davy at the first crash had howled, "Anne, Anne, is it the
Judgment Day? Anne, Anne, I never meant to be naughty," and then
had buried his face in Anne's lap and kept it there, his little body
quivering. Dora, somewhat pale but quite composed, sat with her hand
clasped in Anne's, quiet and motionless. It is doubtful if an earthquake
would have disturbed Dora.