“No one but a fish could get anywhere to-day,” said Jim. “I feel just as if we were living under a waterfall,” declared Azalea. “What’ll we do to-day, Jim?” “I don’t know—’less you tell me stories.” “Piggy, I don’t want to do all the thinking. If I tell stories you’ve got to tell them too. It’s nice we’re going to have chicken for dinner, isn’t it?” She sniffed the air contentedly. “You bet it is. And strawberries and ’lasses cake!” “I wonder what Carin’s doing, Jim?” “Fooling ’round in that there studio of hern. My, but she can paint, can’t she? Did you see that picture she done of me sitting up in the willer?” “Jim McBirney, what makes you talk like that? You know better than to say ‘done’ for ‘did’ and you know willow isn’t pronounced ‘willer.’” “Now, look here, Zalie, you leave me alone and let me talk like I want to. I ain’t got on my Sunday clothes, have I? Well then, I don’t have to put on Sunday talk. Just let me feel comfortable, can’t you?” “I wish Carin were up here to-day.” “And Hi. I’d rather have Hi. Carin makes me kind o’ squirm. She’s a mighty nice girl, but she don’t make me feel to home.” “Oh, Jim, she’s lovely. And such fun too! She can get up the best plays you ever heard of.” “Girl plays, I reckon. She couldn’t think of anything that would interest boys.” “Maybe boys wouldn’t have the sense to be interested, smarty.” “Children,” broke in the soft voice of Ma McBirney, “I’ve got the dinner in the oven and there ain’t nothing occupying me just at present. Wouldn’t one of you read me a story from them _Youth’s Companions_ Carin sent home by pa last night? Seems as if it would pass the time.” The children flushed a little. They knew when ma disliked their way of talking. She had her own particular fashion of correcting them. “You read, Azalea,” said Jim, sinking into a chair and staring out of the rain-beaten window. “And you’ll have to read good and loud to get ahead of this bellering and roaring.” And, indeed, the wind shook the cabin, and the rain fluttered down the chimney; the stream that tumbled down the mountain side was fairly shouting and the trees were beating their drenched branches together with a sound like the rushing of great birds. But high above the elemental din, Azalea’s clear voice arose. And peace dwelt within the cabin. It dwelt there while the children set the table for the good dinner that Mrs. McBirney had cooked, and while they devoured that dinner with perfect concentration of purpose. And afterward, when ma had read a psalm to them, and pa had told a story about something that happened to him when he was a boy and the fires were raging over the mountains, they settled down to a quiet game of jack straws on the deal table.