It was four o’clock when Polly heard the first mutterings of thunder. She had lain down for a few minutes, as was her custom at this hour, and she had fallen asleep. The thunder had probably wakened her. She arose and hastened downstairs; some of the children might be growing nervous. In the ward nobody was stirring. Esther Tenniel had been playing with post-cards and had dropped back on her pillow. Jozy and Clementina and Grissel were drowsing in wheel-chairs. Muriel Spencer and Annette Lacouchière were looking at picture books. Little Duke and Dolly Merrifield were asleep on the veranda, with Mrs. Daybill keeping guard over all and deep in a book as well. The kitchen was empty of life except for a droning fly or two. Outside a cooler breeze was ruffling everything within reach. The sky had changed. The sun was still shining with a weird brightness, making the heaped-up clouds in the northwest seem blacker in contrast. The rumbles of thunder grew into growls. “We are going to have a shower,” said the White Nurse to Polly who stood scanning the sky. Polly nodded. “Where’s Benedicta?” “I saw her go over to the Study. The boys are asleep--or were when I left them half an hour ago.” Polly went inside. Jozy was awake, anxious-eyed. “Is there going to be a thunder-shower?” she questioned tremulously. “It looks a little like it,” Polly answered in cheerful tone. “If we have one I will tell you a story.” “Oh, dear!” Jozy gave a half-laugh. “I don’t know what to do now. I want the story--but I don’t want it to lighten.” “Probably the storm won’t last long,” was the reply. “They are not apt to up here. Maybe it won’t come at all.” Polly went on, into the kitchen, where Benedicta’s fruit-filled jars stood in a prim row on the table. Always thereafter, the terrible storm was associated in her memory with that long line of canned blueberries. Passing out to the piazza, a troubled look came over her face. Instinctively she wished that Dr. Abbe was there. A man is always so convenient if anything happens. Polly had never seen so gruesome a sky. Blackness was gathering overhead, dense blackness that seemed to be embracing the mountain, while far in the northwest zigzags of lightning against a dull coppery sky were appalling in number and incessancy. She ran across and shut the doors of the garage and then returned to the piazza. The wind veered to the north and darkness suddenly enveloped the house. A gust slammed the door behind her, and Polly hurried inside and began to shut doors and windows ahead of the oncoming storm. Sheets of rain dashed into her face as she darted here and there. Before she had finished her task a terrific clap halted her in the middle of the children’s dormitory, just as the White Nurse came from the front veranda with Dolly in her arms. “Isn’t it awful!” cried Mrs. Daybill. And laying the child on a bed, she started back to the veranda door.