In the morning the absence of the barn made a great gap in our familiar outlook, and brought many and serious thoughts; but with the light came renewed hopefulness. All the scene was flooded with glorious sunlight, and only the blackened ruins made the frightful storm of the previous evening seem possible. Nearly all the chickens came at Winnie's call, looking draggled and forlorn indeed, but practically unharmed, and ready to resume their wonted cheerfulness after an hour in the sunshine. We fitted up for them the old coop in the orchard, and a part of the ancient and dilapidated barn which was to have been used for corn-stalks only. The drenching rain had saved this and the adjoining shed from destruction, and now in our great emergency they proved useful indeed. The trees around the site of the barn were blackened, and their foliage was burned to a crisp. Within the stone foundations the smoke from the still smouldering debris rose sluggishly. I turned away from it all, saying: "Let us worry no more over that spilled milk. Fortunately the greater part of our crates and baskets were under the shed. Take the children, Merton, and pick over the raspberry patches carefully once more, while I go to work in the garden. That has been helped rather than injured by the storm, and, if we will take care of it, will give us plenty of food for winter. Work there will revive my spirits." The ground was too wet for the use of the hoe, but there was plenty of weeding to be done, while I answered the questions of neighbors who came to offer their sympathy. I also looked around to see what could be sold, feeling the need of securing every dollar possible. I found much that was hopeful and promising. The Lima-bean vines had covered the poles, and toward their base the pods were filling out. The ears on our early corn were fit to pull; the beets and onions had attained a good size; the early peas had given place to turnips, winter cabbages, and celery; there were plenty of green melons on the vines, and more cucumbers than we could use. The remaining pods on the first planting of bush-beans were too mature for use, and I resolved to let them stand till sufficiently dry to be gathered and spread in the attic. All that we had planted had done, or was doing, fairly well, for the season had been moist enough to ensure a good growth. We had been using new potatoes since the first of the month, and now the vines were so yellow that all in the garden could be dug at once and sold. They would bring in some ready money, and I learned from my garden book that strap-leaved turnips, sown on the cleared spaces, would have time to mature.