“I will, if you want me to. Once the Lord felt so uncomfortable ’cos folks was bad that he was sorry he ever made anybody, or any world or anything. But Noah wasn’t bad—the Lord liked him first-rate, so he told Noah to build a big ark, and then the Lord would make it rain so everybody should be drownded but Noah an’ his little boys an’ girls, an’ doggies, an’ pussies, an’ mamma cows, an’ little-boy cows, an’ little-girl cows, an’ hosses, an’ everything—they’d go in the ark an’ wouldn’t get wetted a bit, when it rained. An’ Noah took lots of things to eat in the ark—cookies an’ milk, an’ oatmeal an’ strawberries, an’ porgies an’—oh, yes; an’ plum puddin’s an’ pumpkin pies. But Noah didn’t want everybody to get drownded, so he talked to folks an’ said, ‘It’s goin’ to rain _awful_ pretty soon; you’d better be good, an’ then the Lord’ll let you come into my ark.” An’ they jus’ said ‘Oh, if it rains we’ll go in the house till it stops’; an’ other folks said, ‘_We_ ain’t afraid of rain—we’ve got an umbrella.’ An’ some more said, they wasn’t goin’ to be afraid of just a rain. But it _did_ rain, though, an’ folks went in their houses an’ the water came in, an’ they got on the tops of the houses, an’ up in big trees, an’ up in mountains, an’ the water went after ’em everywhere an’ drownded everybody, only just except Noah and the people in the ark. An’ it rained forty days an’ nights, an’ then it stopped, an’ Noah got out of the ark, an’ he an’ his little boys an’ girls went wherever they wanted to, an’ everything in the world was all theirs; there wasn’t anybody to tell ’em to go home, nor no Kindergarten schools to go to, nor no bad boys to fight ’em, nor nothin’. Now tell us ’nother story.” I determined that I would not again attempt to repeat portions of the Scripture narrative—my experience in that direction had not been encouraging. I ventured upon a war story. “Do you know what the war was?” I asked, by way of reconnoissance. “Oh, yes,” said Budge, “papa was there an’ he’s got a sword; don’t you see it, hangin’ up there?” Yes, I saw it, and the difference between the terrible field where last I saw Tom’s sword in action, and this quiet room where it now hung, forced me into a reverie from which I was aroused by Budge remarking:— [Illustration: “WE’VE GOT AN UMBRELLA”] “Ain’t you goin’ to tell us one?” “Oh, yes, Budge. One day while the war was going on, there was a whole lot of soldiers going along a road, and they were hungry as they could be; they hadn’t had anything to eat that day.” “Why didn’t they go into the houses, and tell the people they was hungry? That’s what _I_ do when I goes along roads.” “Because the people in that country didn’t like them; the brothers and papas and husbands of those people were soldiers, too; but they didn’t like the soldiers I told you about first, and they wanted to kill them.” “I don’t think they were a bit nice,” said Budge, with considerable decision.