At our old home in Bolivar County the first sound in the morning which usually broke upon my ear was that of mother's singing as she prepared breakfast. On this day she was in our cook house, but working in silence. So, forgetting my own discomfort in the fear that something might have gone wrong with her, I asked why I had not heard her morning song. In reply she pointed first to the heavens, and then to our stock of household belongings, which were strewn here and there where they had been taken from the wagons. To give her cheer, I tried to laugh, saying there was little among our goods which would come to harm because of the rain, and such as might be injured I would quickly get under cover. She replied in an injured tone that father had told her there were few rainstorms in Texas during the year, save when a norther raged. A DAY OF DISCOMFORT I ventured to jest with her, by saying most likely it had been arranged for our especial benefit, as we were newcomers in the country and needed to be introduced to all varieties of climate. The light words failed to bring a smile to her lips. So, without loss of time, I set about carrying such of our belongings as might be injured by the rain to the shelter of the wagons, and had hardly more than begun the task when father returned, his face quite as gloomy as mother's. He tried to apologize for this sort of weather, and began by saying that from all he had learned during his first visit there was little danger that we should be visited by a very long storm. Even the negroes were out of humor, and although the morning was not cold, all were shivering, and looked as if they had been taking a bath in the stream. I asked Zeba what had happened. In sulky tones he told me that while he had been rounding up the cattle and bunching them at the upper end of the valley, so that they would not stray too far on the prairie, he had been treated to a veritable shower bath from the moisture on the mesquite bushes and the pecan trees. [Illustration] THINKING OF THE OLD HOME The chaparral cock was silent. Even the turkey buzzard had forsaken the pecan motte. The mules, which I could see in the distance, were hanging their long ears dejectedly, and the cattle in a most forlorn manner stood humped up with their heads away from the wind. Only the sheep grazed with seeming contentment. [Illustration] When I went into the cook camp, in order to get my breakfast, I was thinking of the old plantation in Bolivar County, where, when it rained, we had good shelter instead of being homeless in the wilderness, as one might say.