Your audiobook, with subtitles.

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.