“Never mind, Judith. ‘Sufficient unto the day,’ you know. And we cannot tell what may happen before Crummie goes dry. We may all be safe at home in our dear native land by that time,” said Justin, soothingly. “Ah! Lord send that same! But aven so, all our labor here will be lost! Och-hone! whichiver way one looks it’s heartbreaking, so it is!” “Nonsense! whichever way one looks the prospect is encouraging! If we are to spend our days here, we shall grow more and more comfortable every day of our lives; if we are to be rescued from here, we shall return to our own country. Be reasonable, Judith.” “Yes, all that’s aisy said! But if Crummie goes dhry, what thin?” whimpered Judith. “We must do without milk. But Crummie is not dry yet, Judith,” laughed Britomarte. And then all returned from their inspection of the dairy and walked toward the house. On their way thither they stopped at the sheepfold to look at a young lamb whose advent Justin had announced that morning. When they had sufficiently admired the pretty little creature, they went on a little further and paused at the poultry yard to see the broods of young chickens newly hatched that were the especial care of the Irish girl. “The darlints! look at thim! iviry little teeny roly-poly looking like a little pod of cotton wool! forbye they are gold-colored instead of white! And to think afther watching and feeding and caring for thim all the summer, I shall maybe have to wring their necks in the autumn. Faix meself thinks I shall niver have the heart to do it at all, at all!” laughed Judith, as she gazed upon her favorites with a strange blending of pride, pity and affection. They turned from the poultry yard and continued their walk toward the house. As they went on Britomarte noticed that Justin kept his eyes fixed uneasily upon the southwestern quarter of the heavens, where a few wild feathery black clouds flecked the burning crimson of the sunset. “What is it, Justin?” she inquired. “I think we shall have a tornado to-night,” he answered, gravely. And, even as he spoke, the clouds were driven up higher and blacker, and the moans of the rising wind swept over the sea and land. “Yes, we shall certainly have a tornado! Hurry on to the house, dear Britomarte! I must go back and put the animals under cover,” said Justin, suddenly turning back and hastening toward the sheepfold. “And sure I must go and see if all the little chicks are safe in the henhouse, and lock the door and stop the hole to keep them in it,” said Judith, as suddenly hastening after him. Britomarte, left alone, pursued her way toward the house, while darker grew the sky and deeper moaned the wind. In the few minutes that passed before she reached the house, the heavens had grown black as night and formed a wild contrast to the ocean, which, as far as the eye could see, was one mass of boiling snow-white foam, across which the rising wind moaned and wailed as a prophetic spirit lamenting the woe to come.