After a half-hour's work he, too, set out on a
tour of exploration. The moon was shining on the plain as serenely as if
only a dew had fallen. Water stood in shallow basins here and there, but
the land was unmarked of the passion of lightning and of wind. Bailey
walked across the level waste, straining his eyes ahead to see if the
homes of his neighbors were still standing. He saw lights gleaming here
and there like warning lamps of distant schooners, and when the
infrequent, silent lightning flamed over the level waste, he caught
glimpses of familiar shanties standing on the low swells.
He hurried forward, his feet splashing in water, too intent to turn
aside. Wherever a lamp burned steadily he knew a roof still remained,
and his heart grew lighter. He came at last to the object of his search.
It was only a small hut, but it was to him most sacred. He knocked
timidly at the door.
"Who's there?" was the quick and startled reply.
"It's Bailey. I'm here to see how you came through the storm."
"Oh, Mr. Bailey!" replied Estelle.
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