"That is hail," replied Polly—"frozen drops of rain."
"Why Miss Polly," said Dotty, giving a fierce twitch at her tooth, "rain can't freeze the least speck in the summer. You don't mean to tell a wrong story, but you've made a mistake."
"Her's made a 'stake," said Katie.
"Now, look, Polly, it's stones! They're pattering, clickety-click, all over the yard. Dear, dear! The grass will look just like the gravel-path, and the windows will crack in two."
"Never you mind," said Polly, knitting as usual; "if it does any harm, 'twill only kill a few chickens."
Upon this there was another wail; for next to ducks Dotty loved chickens. But lo! before her tears had rolled down to meet her dimples, the patter of hail was over.
"Come and see the rainbow," said Polly, from the door-stone.
It was a glorious sight, an arch of varied splendor resting against the blue sky.
"That isn't a rainbow," said Dotty; "it's a hail-bow!"
"What a big, big, big bubbil!" shouted Katie.