Then at the end comes the sun, like a magician for whom all had been made
ready; at sunset, perhaps, or at sunrise, if the storm has lasted all
night. In one instant the silver balls begin to disappear. By countless
thousands at a time he tosses them back whence they came; but as they go,
he changes them, under our eyes, into prismatic globes, holding very light
of very light in their tiny circles, shredding and sorting it into blazing
lines of rainbow color.
All the little children shout with delight, seeing these things; and call
dull, grown-up people to behold. They reply, "Yes, the storm is over;" and
this is all it means to most of them. This kingdom of heaven they cannot
enter, not being "as a little child."
It would be worth while to know, if we only could, just what our
betters--the birds and insects and beasts--do on rainy days. But we cannot
find out much. It would be a great thing to look inside of an ant-hill in
a long rain. All we know is that the doors are shut tight, and a few
sentinels, who look as if India-rubber coats would be welcome, stand
outside.
Pages:
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137