Toward evening a thunder-storm threatened. The three were sitting in Aunt Mean’s plant-room at the time.
“Grandfather is speaking,” said Chee, pleasantly, as the first distant mutterings of thunder were heard. Cousin Herman looked up questioningly.
“Who?” asked Gertrude.
“Grandfather—don’t you hear him?”
Just then a sharp clap rang through the air. Gertrude held her fingers to her ears.
“That was M’dessun,” said Chee. Then noticing her companions’ bewildered glances, added, “It’s very easy to know his voice from grandfather’s other sons’—he talks so angrily.”
The thunder still roared. Mr. Farrar closed the plant-room door. “I guess we hadn’t better sit out here for awhile,” he said, gathering up Gertrude’s books. “We can come back, it won’t last long, I think.”
“Don’t go! What made you shut the door? I love to hear them,” and Chee stepped out into the rising storm fearlessly, as though the sky had been all sunshine.
“Come in, Chee. Oh, do come in!” cried Gertrude, pale with alarm.
The child ran quickly, and throwing her arms around her cousin, asked, “Why, are you sick? What is the matter? Don’t you like Thunder? He is our grandfather, you know.”