See how the reddish mist in the south, thicker and darker every moment, has become a large black cloud visibly invading the still clear part of the sky. Wind precedes it, bending the tops of the pines like a field of grain. There rises from the soil that odor of dust which the dry earth gives forth at the beginning of a storm. “We must not think of starting now,” cautioned Uncle Paul. “The storm is coming; it will be upon us in a few minutes. Let us hurry and find shelter.” Rain forms in the distance like a dim curtain extending clear across the sky. The sheet of water advances rapidly; it would beat the fastest racing horse. It is coming, it has come. Violent flashes of lightning furrow it, thunder roars in its depths. At a clap of thunder heavier than the others Jules starts. “Let us stay here, Uncle,” says the frightened child; “let us stay under this big bushy pine. It doesn’t rain here under cover.” “No, my child,” replies his uncle, who perceives that they are in the very heart of the storm; “let us get away from this dangerous tree.” And, taking Jules by the hand, he leads him hastily through the hail and rain. Beyond the wood Uncle Paul knows of an excavation hollowed out in the rock. They arrive there just as the storm breaks with all its force. They had been there a quarter of an hour, silent before the solemn spectacle of the tempest, when a flash of fire, of dazzling brightness, rent the dark cloud in a zigzag line and struck a pine with a frightful detonation that had no reverberation or echo, but was so violent that one would have said the sky was falling. The fearful spectacle was over in the twinkling of an eye. Wild with terror, Jules had let himself fall on his knees, with clasped hands. He was crying and praying. His uncle’s serenity was undisturbed. “Take courage, my poor child,” said Uncle Paul as soon as the first fright had passed. “Let us embrace each other and thank God for having kept us safe. We have just escaped a great danger; the thunderbolt struck the pine under which we were going to take shelter.” “Oh, what a scare I had, Uncle!” cried the boy. “I thought I should die of it. When you insisted on hurrying away in spite of the rain, did you know that the bolt would strike that tree?” “No, my dear, I knew nothing about it, nor could any one know; only certain reasons made me fear the neighborhood of the big branching pine, and prudence dictated the search for a less dangerous shelter. If I yielded to my fears, if I listened to the voice of prudence, let us give thanks to God, who gave me presence of mind at that moment.” “You will tell me what made you avoid the dangerous shelter of the tree, will you not?” “Very willingly; but when we are all together, so that each one may profit by it. No one ought to ignore the danger one runs in taking shelter under a tree during a storm.”