"Well, the signs is alike for both. The signs is weather like to-day and a kind of breathlessness like to-night. Mr. Kimball says a funnel-shaped cloud is a great sign; and when you see it, in three minutes it's on you, and off goes your roof if it's a cyclone, and off you go yourself if it's a tornado." "My heavens alive!" cried Mrs. Lathrop, clutching the arms of her old-gold-plush stationary rocker. "Do people ever come down again?" Gran'ma Mullins inquired; she was very pale. "Elijah didn't, Mr. Kimball says." "Elijah Doxey?" cried Mrs. Macy. "Why, is he off on a cyclone? No one ever told me." "No, Elijah in the Bible, you know. The Elijah as was caught up in a chariot of fire. Mr. Kimball says there ain't a mite of doubt in his mind but that it was a tornado. I guess Mr. Kimball told the truth that time, for it's all in the Bible." "That's true," said Gran'ma Mullins. "I remember Elijah myself. He kept a tame raven, seems to me, or some such thing." "Oh, Susan!" Mrs. Lathrop cried out suddenly. "There's a fun--" Her voice failed her; she raised her hand and pointed. Susan turned quickly, and her face became suddenly gray-white. "It can't be a cy--" she faltered. With that all four women jumped different ways at once. "Where shall we go?" shrieked Mrs. Macy. "Oh, saints and sinners preserve us! Oh, Susan, where shall we go?" But Susan Clegg stood as if paralyzed, staring straight at the funnel-shaped cloud. Gran'ma Mullins started for her own house; Mrs. Lathrop sprang up and clasped the piazza post nearest; Mrs. Macy grabbed her skirts up at both sides and faced the cyclone just as she had once faced the cow. The funnel-shaped cloud came sweeping towards them. The town was between, and a darkness and a mighty roar arose. Buildings seemed falling; the din was terrible. "I knew it," said Susan grimly. "It _is_ a cyclone!" She faced the worst--standing erect. The next instant the storm was on them all. It lifted Mrs. Lathrop's old-gold-plush stationary rocker and hurled it at that good lady, smashing her hard against the post. It raised the roof of Mrs. Macy's house and dropped it like an extinguisher over the fleeing form of Gran'ma Mullins. "Oh, Gran'ma Mullins, it _is_ a cyclone!" Susan shrieked. But Gran'ma Mullins answered not. A second mighty burst of fury blew down two trees, and it blew Susan herself back against the side wall of the house which shook and swayed like a bit of cardboard. "Oh, yes, it's a cyclone," Susan screamed over and over. "Oh, Mrs. Lathrop, it's a real cyclone! It isn't a tornado; you can see the difference now. It's a cyclone; look at the roof; it's a cyclone!" Mrs. Lathrop could see nothing. She and the old-gold-plush stationary rocker were all piled together under the piazza post.