Penny fairly hugged herself with delight.
“Oh, Louise, we can’t go now,” she whispered. “That must be Old Noah. And isn’t he a darling?”
CHAPTER
7
ARK OF THE MUD FLATS
Unaware that he was being observed, Old Noah again rapped the cow smartly on her flanks.
“Get along, Bessie,” he urged impatiently. “The Heavens will open any minute now, and all the creatures of the earth shall perish. But this calamity shall not befall you, Bessie. You are one of God’s chosen.”
None too willing to be saved from impending doom, Bessie bellowed a loud protest as she was driven into the over-crowded ark. Next went the goat and the squealing pig. The turkeys made more trouble, gobbling excitedly as the old man shooed them into the confines of the three-storied boat.
His task accomplished, Old Noah wiped his perspiring brow with a big red handkerchief. He stood for a moment, gazing anxiously up at the boiling storm clouds.
“This is it—the second great flood,” he murmured. “For the Lord sayeth, ‘I will cause it to rain forty days and forty nights and every living substance that I have made will I destroy from off the face of the earth.’”
As he stood thus, gazing at the sky, Noah made a striking figure. In his prime, the old man evidently had been a stalwart physical specimen, and advancing years had not enfeebled him. His face was that of a Prophet of old. A certain child-like simplicity shone from a pair of trusting blue eyes whose direct gaze bespoke implicit belief.
“Let’s speak to him,” Penny urged. Although Louise tried to hold back, she pulled her along toward the ark.