. In front of their home, down near t

Oon--which I am told is primary instruction on the coming
of a storm--stirs me chiefly by its deeper mystery, as if astrology, come in from the distant stars, lifts here a warning finger. But M---- was

brought up beside the sea, and she has a sailor's instinct for the weather. At the first preliminary shifting of the heavens, too slight for my coarser senses, she will tilt
her nose and look around, then pronounce the coming of a storm. To her, therefore, I leave all questions of umbrellas and raincoats,
and on her decision we go abroad. Last night when I awoke I knew that her prophecy was right again, for the rain was blowing in my face and slashing on the upper window. The wind, too, was whistling along the roofs, with a try at chimney-pots

and spouts. It was the wolf in the fairy story who said he'd huff and he'd puff, and he'd blow in the house where the little pig lived; yet tonight his humor was less savage. Down below I heard ash-cans

toppling over all along the street and rolling to the gutters. It lacks a few nights of Hallowe'en, but doubtless the wind's calendar is awry and

he is out already with his mischief. When a window
rattles at this season, it is the
tick-tack of his roguish finger. If a chimney is overthrown, it is his jest.

Tomorrow we shall find a broken shutter as his rowdy celebration of the night. This morning is by general agreement a nasty day. I am not sure that I assent. If I were the old woman at the corner who sells newspapers from a stand, I would not like t

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