“Mamma, isn’t it grand?” exclaimed Eddie, in one of the brief pauses in the wild uproar of the elements.

“Yes,” she said, “the thunder of his power who can understand?”

“Is it God, mamma? does God make it?” asked little Herbert.

“Yes, dear; ’when he uttereth his voice, there is a multitude of waters in the heavens, and he causeth the vapors to ascend from the ends of the earth; he maketh lightnings with rain, and bringeth forth the wind out of his treasuries.’”

“We needn’t be ’f’aid, mamma?”

“No, darling, no; for God is our Father; He loves us and will take care of us.”

The storm was very violent while it lasted, but soon passed away; the sun shone out, and a beautiful rainbow spanned the eastern sky above the mountain-tops.

Elsie’s children clapped their hands in ecstasy, and ran to call their little friends to enjoy the sight with them.  Mrs. Ross followed, looking so pale and exhausted, that Elsie inquired with concern if she were ill.

“Oh, it was the storm!” she said, “wasn’t it fearful?  I was sure the house would be struck and some of us killed.  Weren’t you frightened?”

“No,” Elsie said, with a kindly reassuring smile, “I presume my nerves are stronger than yours, and I am not naturally timid in regard to thunder and lightning.  Besides, I know so well that he who guides and controls it is my Father and my Friend.  Come, look at his bow of promise.”

The children were in a group about the window, gazing and admiring.

“Let’s ask mamma for the story of it,” Vi was saying.

“The story of it?” repeated Archie Ross.

“Yes; don’t you know? about Noah and the flood.”

“I never heard it.”

“Oh, Archie, it’s in the Bible; grandma told it to us once,” exclaimed his sister Gertrude.

“I didn’t hear it, anyhow,” persisted the boy, “do, Vi, coax Aunt Elsie to tell it.”

The petition was readily granted.  Mrs. Travilla was an inimitable story-teller, and Lucy, whose knowledge of Scripture history was but superficial, listened to the narrative with almost as much interest and pleasure as did the children.

“I would give anything for your talent for story-telling, Elsie,” she said at its conclusion.

“Oh, another! another!  Please tell us another?” cried a chorus of young voices.

Mrs. Travilla drew out her watch, and holding it up with a smile, “Not just now, my dears,” she said, “see it is almost tea-time, and,” she added playfully, “some of us have need to change our dresses and smooth our tangled tresses.”

“That is true,” said Lucy, rising hastily, “and I expect my husband home.  I must send the carriage off at once to the depot; for the train is nearly due.”

Thereupon a cry was raised among the Rosses as they flew after their mother, “I want to go for papa!” “and I!” “It’s my turn, I say, and I will go!” “No, you shan’t, for it’s mine.”