“Is the girl crazy?” asked Mr. Farrar.
“I think she refers to some legend,” answered Gertrude. Chee had always been interesting; her personality was felt, even when she was her usual, reserved little self; to-day, all embarrassment cast away, she was fascinating.
“We don’t know about it, Birdie; can’t you tell us?”
“I forgot you didn’t know,” replied Chee. Then as if in penitence, she added, “I’ll close the door again, if you’d rather, Cousin Gertrude.”
“No, leave it open. The storm is going around us. It will be pleasanter soon. Now tell us what you meant by ‘Grandfather.’”
So Chee began,—the rain dripping from the roof, and the fresh, purified air blowing in at the wide-swung door,—“Why, as I said, Thunder is our grandfather. He has three boys. That loud, sharp sound that hurt Cousin Gertrude’s ears was the baby; he is cross and cruel. But grandfather will never allow him to harm us. Grandfather lets him kill animals sometimes.
“His other sons are kind, gentle boys; they never do any harm, but cool the air instead, and make the earth fresh again. Thunder that just threatens and mutters is grandfather’s voice.”
“What about lightning?” asked Cousin Herman, with a twinkle in his eye. “Is that kind and good?”
Chee laughed. “Lightning? She’s—well, she’s his wife.” They all laughed at her answer, and Mr. Farrar mischievously glanced at Gertrude. Chee noticed that she blushed, but took courage and added, “There’s an old story about grandfather; would you like to hear it?”
Of course they were only too glad to keep her talking, so, clasping her hands around one knee, she commenced the story—her low, dreamy voice fitting well with the tale.