Dorothy lived in the midst of
the great Kansas prairies, with
Uncle Henry, who was a farmer,
and Aunt Em, who was the farmer's
wife. Their house was small,
for the lumber to build it had
to be carried by wagon many miles.
There were four walls, a floor
and a roof, which made one room;
and this room contained a rusty
looking cookstove, a cupboard
for the dishes, a table, three
or four chairs, and the beds.
Uncle Henry and Aunt Em had a
big bed in one corner, and Dorothy
a little bed in another corner.
There was no garret at all, and
no cellar--except a small hole
dug in the ground, called a cyclone
cellar, where the family could
go in case one of those great
whirlwinds arose, mighty enough
to crush any building in its
path. It was reached by a trap
door in the middle of the floor,
from which a ladder led down
into the small, dark hole.
When Dorothy stood in the doorway
and looked around, she could
see nothing but the great gray
prairie on every side. Not a
tree nor a house broke the broad
sweep of flat country that reached
to the edge of the sky in all
directions. The sun had baked
the plowed land into a gray mass,
with little cracks running through
it. Even the grass was not green,
for the sun had burned the tops
of the long blades until they
were the same gray color to be
seen everywhere. Once the house
had been painted, but the sun
blistered the paint and the rains
washed it away, and now the house
was as dull and gray as everything
else.
When Aunt Em came there to
live she was a young, pretty
wife. The sun and wind had changed
her, too. They had taken the
sparkle from her eyes and left
them a sober gray; they had taken
the red from her cheeks and lips,
and they were gray also. She
was thin and gaunt, and never
smiled now. When Dorothy, who
was an orphan, first came to
her, Aunt Em had been so startled
by the child's laughter that
she would scream and press her
hand upon her heart whenever
Dorothy's merry voice reached
her ears; and she still looked
at the little girl with wonder
that she could find anything
to laugh at.
Uncle Henry never laughed.
He worked hard from morning till
night and did not know what joy
was. He was gray also, from his
long beard to his rough boots,
and he looked stern and solemn,
and rarely spoke.
It was Toto that made Dorothy
laugh, and saved her from growing
as gray as her other surroundings.
Toto was not gray; he was a little
black dog, with long silky hair
and small black eyes that twinkled
merrily on either side of his
funny, wee nose. Toto played
all day long, and Dorothy played
with him, and loved him dearly.
Today, however, they were not
playing. Uncle Henry sat upon
the doorstep and looked anxiously
at the sky, which was even grayer
than usual. Dorothy stood in
the door with Toto in her arms,
and looked at the sky too. Aunt
Em was washing the dishes.
From the far north they heard
a low wail of the wind, and Uncle
Henry and Dorothy could see where
the long grass bowed in waves
before the coming storm. There
now came a sharp whistling in
the air from the south, and as
they turned their eyes that way
they saw ripples in the grass
coming from that direction also.
Suddenly Uncle Henry stood
up.
"There's a cyclone coming,
Em," he called to his wife. "I'll
go look after the stock." Then
he ran toward the sheds where
the cows and horses were kept.
Aunt Em dropped her work and
came to the door. One glance
told her of the danger close
at hand.
"Quick, Dorothy!" she screamed. "Run
for the cellar!"
Toto jumped out of Dorothy's
arms and hid under the bed, and
the girl started to get him.
Aunt Em, badly frightened, threw
open the trap door in the floor
and climbed down the ladder into
the small, dark hole. Dorothy
caught Toto at last and started
to follow her aunt. When she
was halfway across the room there
came a great shriek from the
wind, and the house shook so
hard that she lost her footing
and sat down suddenly upon the
floor.
Then a strange thing happened.
The house whirled around two
or three times and rose slowly
through the air. Dorothy felt
as if she were going up in a
balloon.
The north and south winds met
where the house stood, and made
it the exact center of the cyclone.
In the middle of a cyclone the
air is generally still, but the
great pressure of the wind on
every side of the house raised
it up higher and higher, until
it was at the very top of the
cyclone; and there it remained
and was carried miles and miles
away as easily as you could carry
a feather.
It was very dark, and the wind
howled horribly around her, but
Dorothy found she was riding
quite easily. After the first
few whirls around, and one other
time when the house tipped badly,
she felt as if she were being
rocked gently, like a baby in
a cradle.
Toto did not like it. He ran
about the room, now here, now
there, barking loudly; but Dorothy
sat quite still on the floor
and waited to see what would
happen.
Once Toto got too near the
open trap door, and fell in;
and at first the little girl
thought she had lost him. But
soon she saw one of his ears
sticking up through the hole,
for the strong pressure of the
air was keeping him up so that
he could not fall. She crept
to the hole, caught Toto by the
ear, and dragged him into the
room again, afterward closing
the trap door so that no more
accidents could happen.
Hour after hour passed away,
and slowly Dorothy got over her
fright; but she felt quite lonely,
and the wind shrieked so loudly
all about her that she nearly
became deaf. At first she had
wondered if she would be dashed
to pieces when the house fell
again; but as the hours passed
and nothing terrible happened,
she stopped worrying and resolved
to wait calmly and see what the
future would bring. At last she
crawled over the swaying floor
to her bed, and lay down upon
it; and Toto followed and lay
down beside her.
In spite of the swaying of
the house and the wailing of
the wind, Dorothy soon closed
her eyes and fell fast asleep.
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