Elsie's children. Finley Martha

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      Glancing through the open window at the mountains and the sky, Elsie answered that she saw no present indications of a storm; there was nothing to betoken it but the heat and closeness of the air.

      "Are you afraid of thunder, Aunt Elsie?" asked Harry.

      "Lightning, you silly boy," corrected Gertrude, "nobody's afraid of thunder."

      "Yes, you are," he retorted. "You just ought to see, Ed, how scared she gets," and Harry laughed scornfully.

      Gertrude was ready with an indignant retort, but her mother stopped her. "If you are really brave, Gertrude, you can have an excellent opportunity to show it when the storm comes." Then to Harry, "Let your sister alone, or I'll send you from the room."

      The gust, a very severe one, came in the afternoon. Before it was fairly upon them, Lucy, herself pale with terror, had collected her children in a darkened room and seated them all on a feather-bed, where they remained during the storm, half stifled by the heat, the little ones clinging to their mother, hiding their heads in her lap and crying with fear.

      Elsie and her children formed a different group; the mother the central figure here also, her darlings gathered closely about her, in her dressing-room – at a safe distance from the open windows – watching with awed delight, the bursting of the storm clouds over the mountain-tops, the play of the lightning, the sweep of the rain down from the heights into the valleys and river below, listening to the crash and roar of the thunder as it reverberated among the hills, one echo taking it up after another, and repeating it to the next, till it sounded like the explosions of many batteries of heavy artillery, now near at hand, now farther and farther away.

      "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."

      CHAPTER FIFTH

      "Hallo! this looks like welcome; every one of you been crying!" Mr. Ross said, catching up Sophie in his arms, and glancing about upon his group of children, after an affectionate greeting to his wife, and a cordially kind one to their guest.

      "What's the trouble? so sorry papa was coming home, eh?"

      "No, no, that wasn't it, papa," they cried, crowding around him, each eager to claim the first caress, "it wasn't that, but we wanted to go for you, and mamma wouldn't let us."

      "Yes," said Lucy, "they all wanted to go and as that couldn't be, and no one would give up to the others, I kept them all at home."

      "Quite right," he said, gravely, "I'm afraid you hardly deserve the pretty gifts I have brought."

      "Oh, yes, yes, papa, we'll be good next time! Indeed we will! Mamma, coax him!"

      "Yes, do let them have them, Phil," urged his wife, "where would be the use of keeping the things back after spending your money for them?"

      "To teach them a good lesson. I'm afraid both you and I are foolishly indulgent, Lucy."

      "Oh, they'll be good next time."

      "This once then, but only this once, unless they keep their word," he said, producing his gifts – a book or toy for each of his own children, and a package of sweetmeats which he divided among all present.

      He had brought a new dog home with him, but no one but Eddie had noticed it yet. He was stroking and patting it, saying, "Poor fellow, what kind of a dog are you?"

      "A French poodle," said Mr. Ross, coming up to them, "A good watch dog, and excellent for scaring up the wild ducks for the sportsmen. Do you and papa keep up the shooting lessons, master Eddie?"

      "Yes, sir; papa has always said he meant to make me as good a shot as himself, and mamma says it was never his way to give up till a thing's thoroughly done," returned the boy, proudly.

      "And you don't equal him as a shot yet, eh?"

      "No, sir! no, indeed! Why, even cousin Cal Conly – a big man – can't shoot as well as papa."

      "What an ugly dog!" exclaimed the other children, gathering round.

      "What СКАЧАТЬ