When it came time to retire to bed, the two boys could not go to sleep for a long time, so excited were they by their hopes and wishes and expectations for the morrow. At last they sunk to repose, but they woke as early as the lark, and talked of their enterprise till the time came to be dressed, and go down to breakfast. What was the disappointment of the family, and especially of Frederic and Philip, to find that the weather was chill, cloudy and rainy, so as entirely to forbid the idea of taking the proposed excursion! Frederic pouted, and Philip cried. “Oh dear, dear, dear!” said Frederic; “I wish this ugly rain would stop!” “Oh dear,” said Philip; “wish ugly rain go away!” “Father,” said Frederic; “why can’t we go to Chelsea Beach?” “Why, it rains very fast! my son,” was the reply. “Well, I don’t mind that! we can go as it is.” “Certainly you wouldn’t go in such a storm?” “Yes I would: I don’t care for the storm!” Such was the reply of Frederic, and nothing could be said by his father or mother, to pacify him or little Philip. They both became sulky, and were sent out of the room. Cherry now came to them, and began to talk in her cheerful way with them. “Why, what’s the matter now?” “We want to go to Chelsea Beach; father promised to take us there,” said Frederic. “Yes,” said Cherry; “he promised to take us, but it was under the idea that it would be pleasant weather. I am as sorry as you are not to go. I wished very much to pick up some shells along the beach; and to see the blue ocean; and to observe the white gulls, skimming and screaming over the water; and to watch the vessels, with white sails, gliding by in the distance. I love the ocean, and every time I see it, it makes my heart beat, as if I had met some dear friend, whom I had not seen for a long time.” “And so do I love the ocean, and wish this dirty rain had kept away,” said Frederic, with a very sour face. “And so do I love the ocean, and the rain is very naughty!” said Philip, in the same temper as his brother; for it is to be observed that one child is very apt to reflect the feelings of another. “Well, well!” said Cherry; “you may call the rain all the hard names you please: you cannot mend the matter. The rain does not come or go at your bidding. Do you know who makes the rain, Frederic?” “Yes, God makes it,” was the answer. “Yes, my dear brother,” said Cherry; “God makes it rain, and do you think it right to bestow hard words upon that which is God’s work? Is it right to grumble or complain on account of what God is doing?” “I did not think of that!” said Frederic. “I know you did not,” said his sister; “if you had thought of it, I am sure you would not have spoken so: but we ought always to consider that what God does is right, and instead of grumbling at it, we should feel cheerful and content; knowing that what he does is not only always right, but for the best. Now I wish to show you that in this case, it is for the best that it should rain.