Without a word, gathering the baby Avril into his arms, Grandfather dashed out of the other door; and they watched him running across the fields and meadows, his white hair and beard flying back over his shoulders in the mad speed of his flight. “Now there is a strange man,” Grandmother said to Uncle Pablôt. Pablôt only whistled softly and looked wise. “One would think,” continued Grandmother, “that he would be grateful for a nice trip on the back of my child. He will come to my way of thinking all in good time.” She looked around her critically. “The fire!” she said. “How fiercely the fire is burning! It quite makes me boil with anger; I won’t have it, I hate it!” and she ran upon it, scattering the embers with a great hissing sound. “There now!” turning again to Pablôt. “Do you think that the room is in readiness for my son? Shall I open the floodgates and let him in?” “How about Anjou?” asked Uncle Pablôt. “Anjou can ride in his basket.” “And Philippe?” “The little cradle by the bed that Avril sleeps in—an excellent boat! Jump in, Philippe, run and jump in, for we are going to make a voyage. I—let me see—this tub will suit me nicely; I have a fondness for tubs; and you, Pablôt, can run along the bank. Into your basket, Anjou, _quick_! You look strangely unhappy, my pet. Are we all ready? _Enter, my son!_” Grandmother unlatched the door facing on the river; it flew back against the wall with a crash. What happened next was very confused in the mind of the startled Philippe. There was a great, swishing roar as the water of the river, swollen to unheard-of heights by the hard rain, leaped and tumbled into the room in masses and billows of silver foam. Tightly he clutched the rail of the crib as his strange boat tossed and turned and ducked and pitched and bobbed and spun around and around in the currents and cross currents and boiling waves. At last, when the water in the room had reached the level of the water outside, and therefore had suddenly quieted, he dared to look about him. Uncle Pablôt had disappeared; Grandmother was calmly sitting in her tub with a rapturous smile on her old face. “So impulsive!” she remarked conversationally to Philippe. “My son, the River,” she explained. “He is so very glad to see me. Did you notice how he jumped and romped when I let him in? It made me very proud! But we must not waste our time floating idly here; there is to be a very important reunion of my whole family.” And with that they were caught in an eddying current and swept out of the door: Anjou, with tail as erect as a mast; Philippe, wide-eyed and silent in his cradle boat; and Grandmother in her wooden tub, pleased and proud, the happy tears streaming down her cheeks.