Poor, dear Grandmother! Whatever would become of her? She would drown most surely. But perhaps Uncle Pablôt, who had raced on down the bank, could save her——But no! He was strolling back; he had given up. Philippe ran to meet his uncle with tears in his eyes.
“Hello! So there you are, safe and sound and high and dry, eh? You see, I veered about; I thought we might take a little stroll together,” explained Uncle Pablôt airily.
“Save her!” pleaded Philippe tearfully.
“Who? Grandmother Rain? Be calm, my boy, she is quite in her element.”
“But unless we do something, the river will carry her far away!”
“Which is exactly what she wishes. She will be back again, never worry. She makes these little trips to the ocean quite frequently. Look, Philippe, the sun is coming out! The sun and Grandmother Rain do not get along well together; he always hides as soon as she has made her appearance, and when she has gone, he goes about mopping up the whole countryside.”
Uncle Pablôt’s calmness gave Philippe some comfort. He was grown up, and therefore wise; perhaps he knew the meaning of these strange things. “Do they always disagree, Grandmother and the sun?” asked Philippe.
“Not always. Sometimes, though rarely, you may see them together, and then they hang a rainbow flag across the sky as a sign of their truce. But come! We have much land to cover, we must hurry a little more.”
“Where are we going, Uncle Pablôt?”
“What a silly question! How am I to know? I go wherever it pleases me at the moment, sometimes for days in one direction, and at other times this way and that quicker than you can think. And please do not call me Uncle Pablôt; I am your Uncle Wind.”