"No, she had gone to bed before; but of course the scream's made it worse."
"The thunder you mean. In what direction did the storm arise?"
"In the direction of the s-h-o-e-s." Aunt Mary spelled the word so that Ida need not understand.
"To look at her now, one would think there never could be a storm."
The little girl sat in a high chair by the side of her father, diligently engaged in eating her bread and milk.
"I know what kind of storms you mean," said Berty, laughing.
"Yes, I suppose so," answered his father. "You are quite a man, you know."
"There were never such storms in his day," remarked Aunt Mary, glancing kindly in the face of her favorite nephew.
"Please, aunty, give Ida some cake!" asked the little girl, holding out her plate.
"Yes, dear;" and then added, "I wish her mother could see her now."