^mim t\)t Bintii) 



Refreshing Rain 



I WAS standing on the broad, red-sandstone steps 

 of a Chicago residence, waiting the answer to 

 the bell, when a shower of rain began to fall. 

 Each drop made a crimson mark on the stone, and it 

 was surprising how evenly they fell. First the stone 

 was dotted over, all parts alike. Then drops struck 

 in between where the others had fallen, and so on 

 till every part of the stone had been touched. The 

 work was beautifully done, and so softly and gently! 

 Every upturned cup of bloom, and every blade of 

 grass on the lawn had received its share, and all 

 were refreshed. It is a study to know how this is 

 accomplished. The source of rain is air full of 

 moisture. The atmosphere does not fill up and 

 overflow, like a cup set under a little waterfall, 

 but when it has absorbed all the water it will hold, 

 it refuses to take any more, retains what it has, and 

 floats away with its burden. Like the honey-bee 

 which takes as much of honey in his pouch, and as 

 much wax on his pack-saddle legs as he can carry, 

 and no more, so the loaded atmosphere, when it 

 has enough, starts off, looking for an arid field 

 which lies waiting — its parched lips open, longing 

 for the rain-cloud to give it a drink. The water- 

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