But, in the face of a sixty-mile gale laden with tons of flying snow, the report of a cannon could scarce have carried over the stretch of windswept ground between the ravine and the Place.
Lad seemed to understand this.

For, after a dozen thunderous barks, he fell silent; and stood again, head on one side, in thought.
At first sound of the barking, Cyril had recognized the dog.

And his terror had vanished.

In its place surged a peevish irritation against the beast that had so frightened him.

He groped for a rock-fragment to hurl up at the rackety collie.
Then, the child paused in his fumbling.