violence.
Many cocoa-nut trees were torn up by the roots and carried bodily along
with the tough stream of mud and stones and general debris. Some of
these trees advanced several yards in an upright position, and then fell
in dire confusion.

Suddenly Toc observed to his horror that the mass was slowly bearing
down straight towards his hut. Indeed, so much had his mind been
impressed with the general wreck, that he had failed to observe a few
tons of stones and rubbish which even then appeared on the point of
overwhelming him.

Without uttering a word he sprang into the hut.

"What's wrong, Thursday?" asked his wife, in some alarm.

"Never mind. Hold your tongue, an' hold tight to Dumplin'."

The baby had been named Charles, after Toc's young brother, and the
inelegant name of "Dumplin'" had been given him to prevent his being
confounded with Charlie, senior.

Susannah did as she was bid, and the young giant, rolling her and the
baby and the bedclothes into one bundle, lifted them in his
wide-spreading arms and rushed out of the house.

He had to pass a neighbour's house on the way, which also stood
dangerously near the ravine. Kicking its door open, he shouted, "All
hands, ahoy! Turn out! turn out!" and passed on.

A few seconds later John Adams, who had gone to sleep with his nose
flattened on the Bible, was startled by the bursting in of his door.

"Hallo, Toc!" he cried, starting up; "what's wrong, eh?"

"All right, father, but the ravine is bearin' down on us."

Thrusting his living bundle into an empty bunk, the stout youth left it
to look after itself, and rushed out with Adams to the scene of
devastation.

The avalanche was still advancing when they reached the spot, but a
fortunate obstruction had turned it away from the houses. It moved
slowly but steadily downwards like genuine lava, and in the course of a
few hours swept some hundreds of cocoa-nut trees, a yam ground,
containing nearly a thousand yams, one of the canoes, and a great mass
of heterogeneous material, over the cliffs into the sea. Then the
stream ceased to flow, the consternation of the people began to abate,
and they commenced to repair, as far as possible, the damage caused by
that memorable typhoon.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

A PICNIC AND A SURPRISE.

But the cyclone, terrible though it was, did not altogether put an end
to the Dumplin' picnic, if we may be allowed the phrase. It only
delayed it. As soon as the w