" So clear and pleasant was the air that it seemed as
if the wind had actually veered to the north. But no. It still blew
from the other quarter--the old familiar sirocco. Which proved that the
shower of ashes had not been "carried elsewhere," as the youthful
teacher of mathematics had prognosticated. It had not been carried
anywhere. It simply ceased to fall, the volcano having momentarily run
out of its stock of objectionable materials.
The Clubmen therefore, calling to mind the discussion of the morning,
were led to revise their opinion as to that gentleman's intelligence.
They remembered one or two things. They remembered that even when
Heavenly Powers are not known to be directly interested in the event,
eruptions now and then come to an end quite irrespective of the wind--a
contingency which had not been foreseen in the acute young
Scandinavian's computations.
"That comes," they said, "of studying the higher mathematics. . . ."
For their miraculous deliverance from a shower of volcanic ashes the
islanders gave all credit, as might have been expected, to their Patron
Saint.
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