Christian life -- Juvenile fiction; Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction
Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: THE WIND WHIRLED THE UMBRELLA IN THE AIR.]
What The Wind Did
BY
AMY LE FEUVRE
AUTHOR OF
"Probable Sons," "Teddy's Button," "The Odd One," Etc.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK CHICAGO TORONTO
Fleming H. Revell Company
Publishers of Evangelical Literature
Copyright, 1899
by
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. NOT INTRODUCED
II. HIS STORY TOLD
III. HIS STORY INTERRUPTED
IV. OLD FRIENDS
V. HIS STORY FINISHED
What The Wind Did
CHAPTER I
NOT INTRODUCED
HE was only a clerk in a country bank. Morning by morning punctually
at half-past nine, he would leave his lodgings in the quiet village
street, and take his twenty minutes' walk along the straight high road
that led to his destination. His clothes were shabby, but one glance
at his bright resolute face and clear frank blue eyes revealed a fresh
young spirit, as yet undaunted and untainted by contact with evil: and
he walked with a spring and vigor envied by many a passer-by.
It was a wild wet morning in March when first he met her. He had been
away for a week's holiday, and as he left his own doorstep, he saw a
little figure do the same from the lodgings over the way. He watched
her struggle on in front of him for some minutes, wondering how such
a small creature could grapple with such a large umbrella, and he
purposely slackened his pace to see the result.
The wind has no pity for weakness, and with a wild shriek of fiendish
delight, it bore down upon the frail little body. Seizing the umbrella
in its clutches, it whirled it into the air, whilst it made such a
furious onslaught on the little waterproof cloak, that the owner of it
staggered, lost her balance, and fell headlong to the ground, a bag of
books discarding its contents in all directions.
"Is it a walking doll or a baby?" muttered the young fellow as for a
moment the flying garments round the prostrate little figure made it
difficult to tell which end to hoist uppermost.
But when he had successfully set the little damsel on her feet, his
face softened with a wondering pity, as he met the gaze of one of the
sweetest children's faces that he had ever seen.
It was not the beauty of it that attracted him so much, as the
wistfulness of the large grey eyes fringed with long curled lashes, and
the subdued and sensitive little mouth.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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