said, ‘we ain’t afraid of rain—­we’ve got an umbrella.’  An’ some more said, they wasn’t goin’ to be afraid of just a rain.  But it did rain though, an’ folks went in their houses, an’ the water came in, an’ they went up-stairs, an’ the water came up there, an’ they got on the tops of the houses, an’ up in big trees, an’ up in mountains, an’ the water went after ’em everywhere an’ drownded everybody, only just except Noah and the people in the ark.  An’ it rained forty days an’ nights, an’ then it stopped, an’ Noah got out of the ark, an’ he and his little boys an’ girls went wherever they wanted to, and everything in the world was all theirs; there wasn’t anybody to tell ’em to go home, nor no Kindergarten schools to go to, nor no bad boys to fight ’em, nor nothin’.  Now tell us ’nother story.”

I determined that I would not again attempt to repeat portions of the Scripture narrative—­my experience in that direction had not been encouraging.  I ventured upon a war story.

“Do you know what the war was?” I asked, by way of reconnoissance.

“Oh, yes,” said Budge; “papa was there, an’ he’s got a sword; don’t you see it, hangin’ up there?”

Yes, I saw it, and the difference between the terrible field where last I saw Tom’s sword in action, and this quiet room where it now hung, forced me into a reverie from which I was aroused by Budge remarking:—­

“Ain’t you goin’ to tell us one?”

“Oh, yes, Budge.  One day while the war was going on, there was a whole lot of soldiers going along a road, and they were as hungry as they could be; they hadn’t had anything to eat that day.”

“Why didn’t they go into the houses, and the people they was hungry?  That’s what I do when I goes along roads.”

“Because the people in that country didn’t like them; the brothers and papas and husbands of those people were soldiers, too; but they didn’t like the soldiers I told you about first, and they wanted to kill them.”

“I don’t think they were a bit nice,” said Budge, with considerable decision.

“Well, the first soldiers wanted to kill them, Budge.”

“Then they was all bad, to want to kill each other.”

“Oh, no, they weren’t; there were a great many real good men on both sides.”

Poor Budge looked sadly puzzled, as he had an excellent right to do, since the wisest and best men are sorely perplexed by the nature of warlike feeling.

“Both parties of soldiers were on horseback,” I continued, “and they were near each other, and when they saw each other they made their horses run fast, and the bugles blew, and the soldiers all took their swords out to kill each other with, when just then a little boy, who had been out in the woods to pick berries for his mama, tried to run across the road, and caught his toe some way, and fell down, and cried.  Then somebody hallooed ‘Halt!’ very loud, and all the horses on one side stopped,