And the rain came. Slowly up the western skies rose a solid cloud. No attention was paid it for some time, it came on so quietly and serenely. But, by and by, the cows came sauntering down to the barn-yard bars as if they thought it was milking-time, and the sheep huddled together under the great elms. Grandpa and his big man commenced raking the hay together vigorously, and a sudden, cool, puffy breeze began to ruffle the little rings of hair on Lily-toes' head, and send the small chickens careening over the knot-grass in such fashion that the careful mother-hen put her head out of her little house and called them in. And still in the cool, pleasant sitting-room, with its cheerful talk and laughter, the approach of the storm was hardly noticed. Grandma, the most thoughtful body present, remarked that she believed it was "clouding up a little," and mamma said she hoped so. And then the talk went on about making dresses and the best way to put up strawberries and spiced currants. But when big drops came suddenly plashing against the windows and a lively peal of thunder rolled overhead, then there was a scattering in the sitting-room. The aunties scampered out through a side door to snatch some clothes from the grass-plot, and to gather up the bright tin pans and pails that had been sunning on the long benches. Grandma, throwing her apron over her head, ran to see that some precious young turkeys were under shelter. The visitors hurried to the door, bewailing the windows they had left open at home, and hoping their husbands _would_ have sense enough to see to things. And the mamma ran upstairs to close the windows and potter over some collars and ruffles that had blown about, never thinking of baby on the uncovered piazza. [Illustration: LILY-TOES IN THE SHOWER.] Oh, how it poured! Grandpa and his man got as far as the wagon-shed just as the worst came, and they stayed there. Grandma was weather-bound along with her young turkeys in the granary. And Lily-toes!--no one will ever know what her reflections were for a few moments. I imagine she rather liked the first drops; for she was always fond of plashing about in her bath-tub, and had no fear of water in reasonable quantities. But when the wind began to dash the rain in her face, probably she first gasped in astonishment, and then kicked, and, eventually, as everybody knew, screamed! Yes; aunties, visitors, and mamma, as they met in the hall and shrieked to each other about the storm, heard, at last, in the lull of the gale, a sound of indignant squalling. Then there was another scamper. Lily-toes was snatched in-doors and borne along amid a tempest of astonishment and pity, until one visitor burst out laughing; and then all laughed except the mamma, who kept a straight face until baby stopped crying and smiled around on them like wet sunlight.