A short walk brought them to the house of the Weather Prophet. At one period of her life Sally would have called it a glass box, set up on end. And that was certainly what it did look like. They caught a glimpse of a mass of fluffy drapery within and then Bedelia exclaimed in a tone of disappointment and chagrin, “Why, it’s nothing but a paper doll!”
Sure enough, a paper doll it was, and a lady doll at that. Sally had seen just such dolls hung upon her Christmas trees year after year. In fact, she had often helped to make the fluffy skirts of plaited crépe paper.
The Sign Post here whispered that the skirts were really the most wonderful thing about the Weather Prophet, as they changed color with the changes of the weather.
Sally now observed hanging over the door a glass sign on which was printed in large, golden letters
WHEN I WEAR PINK, A STORM IS DUE,
WHEN SKIES ARE CLEAR, MY SKIRTS ARE BLUE.
In fact, the glass sign began to repeat the stanza in a very loud voice as soon as the party was within hailing distance, and kept repeating it over and over until the Weather Prophet angrily ordered it to be quiet, whereupon it became so sulky that it clouded itself all over and became quite dim.
As soon as the Weather Prophet could make herself heard, she greeted her guests with the greatest affability, and when questioned concerning the impending storm replied by pointing with a smile to her draperies, which certainly were as pink as could be.
“As there never is any rain here,” she explained, “a storm usually—in fact, as a rule—means a snow storm.” Then with a friendly nod at Sally, she added, “In your country, where I once lived, you have many kinds of storms.”