Pearl woke and sat up in bed. The lightning flashed in the little window, leaving the room as black as ink. She listened to the whistling wind. "It's the hail," she whispered delightedly. "I knew the Lord would find a way to open the windy without me puttin' my fist through it--I'll have a look at the clouds to see if they have that white edge on them. No--I won't either--it isn't my put in. I'll just lave the Lord alone. Nothin' makes me madder than when I promise Tommy or Mary or any of them something and then have them frettin' all the time about whether or not I'll get it done. I'd like to see the clouds though. I'll bet they're a sight, just like what Camilla sings about: Dark is His path on the wings o' the storm. In the kitchen below the Motherwells gathered with pale faces. The windows shook and rattled in their casings. "Keep away from the stove, Tom," Mrs. Motherwell said, trembling. "That's where the lightnin' strikes." Tom's teeth were chattering. "This'll fix the wheat that's standing, every--bit of it," Sam said. He did not make it quite as strong as he intended. Something had taken the profanity out of him. "Hadn't you better go up and bring the kid down, ma?" Tom asked, thinking of Pearl. "Her!" his father said contemptuously. "She'll never hear it." The wind suddenly ceased. Not a breath stirred, only a continuous glare of lightning. Then crack! crack! crack! on the roof, on the windows, everywhere, like bad boys throwing stones, heavier, harder, faster, until it was one beating, thundering roar. It lasted but a few minutes, though it seemed longer to those who listened in terror in the kitchen. The roar grew less and less and at last ceased altogether, and only a gentle rain was falling. Sam Motherwell sat without speaking, "You have cheated the Lord all these years, and He has borne with you, trying to make you pay up without harsh proceedings"--he found himself repeating the minister's words. Could this be what he meant by harsh proceedings? Certainly it was harsh enough taking away a man's crop after all his hard work. Sam was full of self-pity. There were very few men who had ever been treated as badly as he felt himself to be. "Maybe there'll only be a streak of it hailed out," Tom said, breaking in on his father's dismal thoughts. "You'll see in the mornin'," his father growled, and Tom went back to bed. When Pearl woke it was with the wind blowing in upon her; the morning breeze fragrant with the sweetness of the flowers and the ripening grain. The musty odours had all gone, and she felt life and health in every breath. The blackbirds were twittering in the oats behind the house, and the rising sun was throwing long shadows over the field. Scattered glass lay on the floor. "I knew the dear Lord would fix the gurms," Pearl said as she dressed, laughing to herself. But her face clouded in a moment. What about the poppies?