‘If Beatrice did not know that it was wrong to be naughty, God would not be angry with her; but Beatrice knows quite well when she is good and when she is naughty.’
Little Beatrice pressed grandmamma’s hand, and as grandmamma thought she heard her sob, she took her up in her arms, and Beatrice whispered, as soon as her tears let her, that she would try and be very good.
‘You must think more about being good, both of you, when you say your prayers, and when you ask God to help you to be good children.’
Mary now came back with the candle, and grandmamma soon finished all that she wished to do, and then they all went upstairs again; and it seemed so light and bright when they were upstairs, that they could scarcely see, and the sun was shining, and the rain had ceased. The black clouds had gone away far over the hills, and the blue sky was there again.
Alice and Beatrice clapped their hands, and were like the sunshine, gay and bright; all their black clouds had gone away too. They put on their hats and jackets to run down the steep path to the sea for their usual bath; but before they went, grandmamma told them to be careful, for it would be very slippery after the rain.
Alice and Beatrice walked slowly down to the sea-shore with Mary. When they crossed the wooden bridge they were surprised to see how much water was in the little brook. They stopped to look at it, for it was very pretty: there was quite a waterfall just above the bridge, and the water splashed and made a loud noise in falling. The grass looked more green, and the flowers smelt more sweet, and Alice said, ‘Mary, I think that grandmamma is quite right: the rain does a great deal of good. The grass looks much greener, and the flowers look much prettier, and the little brook does not murmur now, but it rushes and roars like the river Sid by the mill. I know some pretty verses about “How welcome is the rain!” but I never thought before how nice the rain was.’
‘When it is over, Alice; but not while it rains and you cannot go out,’ said Beatrice.
‘But grandmamma tells us nice stories, or shows us something. I do not think that I mind the rain now,’ said Alice.
‘Oh! Mary, what is that over the sea?’ cried Alice. ‘How beautiful it is! Look, Beatrice, blue and red and yellow—I cannot count the colours.’
‘It is a rainbow, Miss Alice,’ said Mary.