“It is not,” said William, irritated.  “It’s not going to anything like rain.  I s’pose you think it ought to rain just to let you sail that chunk of wood!”

“It’s goin’ to rain—­it’s goin’ to rain!” (Jane made a little singsong chant of it.) “It’s goin’ to rain—­it gives Willie a pain—­it’s goin’ to rain—­it gives Willie a pain—­it’s goin’ to—­”

He interrupted her sternly.  “Look here!  You’re old enough to know better.  I s’pose you think there isn’t anything as important in the world as your gettin’ the chance to sail that little boat!  I s’pose you think business and everything else has got to stop and get ruined, maybe, just to please you!” As he spoke he walked to an umbrella-stand in the hall and deliberately took therefrom a bamboo walking-stick of his father’s.  Indeed, his denunciation of Jane’s selfishness about the weather was made partly to reassure himself and settle his nerves, strained by the unusual procedure he contemplated, and partly to divert Jane’s attention.  In the latter effort he was unsuccessful; her eyes became strange and unbearable.

She uttered a shriek: 

“Willie’s goin’ to carry a cane!”

“You hush up!” he said, fiercely, and hurried out through the front door.  She followed him to the edge of the porch; she stood there while he made his way to the gate, and she continued to stand there as he went down the street, trying to swing the cane in an accustomed and unembarrassed manner.

Jane made this difficult.

“Willie’s got a cane!” she screamed.  “He’s got papa’s cane!” Then, resuming her little chant, she began to sing:  “It’s goin’ to rain—­Willie’s got papa’s cane—­it’s goin’ to rain—­Willie’s got papa’s cane!” She put all of her voice into a final effort.  “Miss Pratt’ll get wet if you don’t take an umbereller-R-R!”

The attention of several chance pedestrians had been attracted, and the burning William, breaking into an agonized half-trot, disappeared round the corner.  Then Jane retired within the house, feeling that she had done her duty.  It would be his own fault if he got wet.

Rain was coming.  Rain was in the feel of the air—­and in Jane’s hope.

She was not disappointed.  Mr. Genesis, so secure of fair weather in the morning, was proved by the afternoon to be a bad prophet.  The fat cloud was succeeded by others, fatter; a corpulent army assailed the vault of heaven, heavy outriders before a giant of evil complexion and devastating temper.

An hour after William had left the house, the dust in the streets and all loose paper and rubbish outdoors rose suddenly to a considerable height and started for somewhere else.  The trees had colic; everything became as dark as winter twilight; streaks of wildfire ran miles in a second, and somebody seemed to be ripping up sheets of copper and tin the size of farms.  The rain came with a swish, then with a rattle, and then with a roar, while people listened at their garret doorways and marveled.  Window-panes turned to running water;—­it poured.