It seemed like a caress.

There came a pattering around her.

Suddenly rose a damp, faint smell of dust.
Beyond the hill showed a gray pall of rain, coming slowly, charged with a low roar.

The whisper of the sweeping wheat was swallowed up.
Lenore stood her ground until heavy rain drops fell thick and fast upon her, sinking through her thin waist to thrill her flesh; and then, with a last gay call to those two man lovers of wheat and storms, she ran for the porch.
There they joined her, Anderson puffing and smiling, Dorn still with that rapt look upon his face.

The rain swept up and roared on the roof, while all around was streaked gray.
"Boy, there's your thirty-thousand-dollar rain!" shouted Anderson.
But Dorn did not hear.