"Why, don't you know when the thunder bangs, and then you see an awful bright place in the sky?—that's where the Lord's carriage gives an awful pound, an' makes little cracks through the floor of heaven, an' we see right in. But what's the reason we can't ever see anybody through the cracks, Uncle Harry?"
"I don't know, old fellow—I guess it's because it isn't cracks in heaven that look so bright,—it's a kind of fire that the Lord makes up in the clouds. You'll know all about it when you get bigger."
"Well, I'll feel awful sorry if 'tain't anything but fire. Do you know that funny song my papa sings 'bout:—
"'Roarin' thunders, lightenin's blazes,
Shout the great Creator's praises?'
I don't know 'zactly what it means, but I think it's kind o' splendid, don't you?"
"TWO CLOUDS GO BUMP INTO EACH OTHER"
I did know the old song; I had heard it in a Western camp-meeting, when scarcely older than Budge, and it left upon my mind just the effect it seemed to have done on his. I blessed his sympathetic young heart, and snatched him into my arms. Instantly, he became all boy again.