A portion of the glass covering had been smashed by the wind. “It was a little twister all right,” declared the man who had given the children a ride. “The worst is over now though, I think.” “I hope our windmill is all right,” Hanny said anxiously. “It may have blown down.” The car rolled over a rise, and the children were reassured to see the huge canvas-arms revolving at a furious rate. “It’s still there,” Vevi said, greatly relieved. “But see how fast the arms are turning,” Hanny declared. “The tulip fields will be flooded!” At the gate to Windmill Farm, the driver stopped the car to let the children off. “Will you be all right now?” he asked. “Or do you want me to come with you?” “I can turn off the windmill myself,” Hanny said. She and Vevi thanked the driver and his wife for the ride and ran through the gate. The windmill was groaning and straining under the assault of the elements. At any moment, Vevi expected to see the canvas-covered arms ripped to shreds. Around and around went the fan-shaped sails, pumping water at a fearful rate. The irrigation ditches were flooded and Hanny could see that some of the tulip fields were soaked. “I must get the mill stopped first of all!” she cried. The little Dutch girl ran to the mill and tried to open the door. The wind held it back. “Help me, Vevi!” she cried. Both girls tugged at the door. Vevi lost her beanie again, and this time she did not try to save it. Suddenly the mill door flew back, banging hard. The wind was so strong it nearly wrenched off the hinges. Once inside the mill, the girls were protected. But it was frightening to hear the wild creak of the pulleys and the heaving and groaning of the great sails overhead. “Oh, Hanny, I’m scared,” Vevi whimpered, huddling against a wall. “This old mill is about ready to blow over.” Hanny was not as nervous as her little friend, for she had been inside the mill before on very windy days. Quickly, she shot levers into place, locking the mechanism. “There, I have stopped the mill from pumping!” she exclaimed. The girls caught their breath, looking out over the fields through the open doorway. “This wind will snap the stems of our tulips even if the water did not ruin them,” Hanny said. “Uncle Peter will lose most of his investment.” “The wind is dying down some now,” Vevi said. “Maybe the tulips will be all right.” “I am especially worried about the north field,” Hanny went on. “If the prize tulip is lost, we will have nothing to enter in Mrs. Langley’s show.” “The Golden Beauty?” Hanny did not answer. She seemed to be thinking hard. Suddenly, without explaining what she intended to do, she bolted out the open door of the mill. Vevi saw the little girl run to the barn. She was inside a minute or two. Then out she came, carrying a large, empty orange crate. “Where are you going, Hanny?” Vevi shouted across the yard.