"PAPA, WHAT MAKES THE RAIN COME?"
Mabel and Ethel can't write for themselves, and they do not know that I am writing to the Post-office Box to tell other little girls about them. What here follows is not a made-up story; it is set down almost word for word as it was spoken. The girls were in their little beds, talking about different things, and papa was sitting at the table reading a book by the light of the lamp. Thunder was heard in the distance, and Ethel remarked that the rain was coming. This led Mabel to ask the question which forms the title of this letter, "Papa, what makes the rain come?"
While thinking about the best way to make her understand the wonderful and beautiful natural process—how the sun draws up vapors from land and sea, and stores the treasures of rain in the clouds, returning them in showers of blessings upon the earth—Ethel broke in with her views, thus relieving me of a difficulty. So I kept quiet as a mouse, and listened while pretending to read. Ethel, half raising herself in bed, thus explained:
"Why, Mabel, I will tell you what makes the rain come. You see, God is up there above the clouds, and He has wings, and flies from place to place, all over. Then, you know, He has a pump, with a big deep well, with lots, oh! lots of water in it, and on the pump there is a rubber tube, with a sprinkler fastened to it. And then He pumps, and pumps, and pumps, and the angels they pump, and the water comes, and spurtles, and spurtles, and spurtles, and spurtles, and spurtles, and spurtles; and that's what makes the rain come."
These were the child's thoughts and expressions on the beautiful phenomena of the rain. The explanation seemed sufficient and satisfactory, as both little thinkers forthwith resigned themselves into the loving arms of "tired nature's sweet restorer," and were carried far away into the happy land of dreams.
F. J. T.
Farmington, Minnesota.
Churchville, Maryland.
As the day is rainy, we have been looking over Harper's Young People, and seeing so many nice letters in Our Post-office Box. I thought, by way of variety, I would send one from Harford County. I have two sisters. One is a teacher, and she is going to read some pieces out of your paper to the children in her school.
We have a colt named Pinafore. The other day I turned another horse, with a halter on, into the same field with him. Pin caught the halter in his mouth, and led him about as he had seen us do. I have a Scotch terrier dog named Jack. I hitch him to a little wagon, and he is better trained than the speckled pig in No. 132.
I think your paper is just splendid, but like to read "Mr. Stubbs's Brother" the best of all. I went to see Jumbo in Baltimore.
Frank B.