“This is what I call delightful!” replied that remarkable woman, tipping her tub until the water ran in and filled it with a deep gurgle. As she sank into the river she clapped her hands, whereupon there was a blinding flash and a peal of sharp thunder. A bigger wave than the rest washed Philippe, cradle and all, upon the shore. He was too dazed to understand for some moments just what had happened, but at length he spied Grandmother, already at some distance, riding the waves and swimming strongly with the current. “Now I shall be in high time for the reunion!” she called back to him, the growing space between them making her voice very faint. Poor, dear Grandmother! Whatever would become of her? She would drown most surely. But perhaps Uncle Pablôt, who had raced on down the bank, could save her——But no! He was strolling back; he had given up. Philippe ran to meet his uncle with tears in his eyes. “Hello! So there you are, safe and sound and high and dry, eh? You see, I veered about; I thought we might take a little stroll together,” explained Uncle Pablôt airily. “Save her!” pleaded Philippe tearfully. “Who? Grandmother Rain? Be calm, my boy, she is quite in her element.” “But unless we do something, the river will carry her far away!” “Which is exactly what she wishes. She will be back again, never worry. She makes these little trips to the ocean quite frequently. Look, Philippe, the sun is coming out! The sun and Grandmother Rain do not get along well together; he always hides as soon as she has made her appearance, and when she has gone, he goes about mopping up the whole countryside.” Uncle Pablôt’s calmness gave Philippe some comfort. He was grown up, and therefore wise; perhaps he knew the meaning of these strange things. “Do they always disagree, Grandmother and the sun?” asked Philippe. “Not always. Sometimes, though rarely, you may see them together, and then they hang a rainbow flag across the sky as a sign of their truce. But come! We have much land to cover, we must hurry a little more.” “Where are we going, Uncle Pablôt?” “What a silly question! How am I to know? I go wherever it pleases me at the moment, sometimes for days in one direction, and at other times this way and that quicker than you can think. And please do not call me Uncle Pablôt; I am your Uncle Wind.” Philippe felt rebuked; he trotted silently beside the tall, lean fellow, thinking him a not very pleasant companion. He would gladly have walked home alone, but he had no idea where he was, and he was afraid to be left alone. At length his Uncle Wind spoke to him: