CHAPTER XXIII 
THE END OF THE DROUGHT 
L ast night the rain came. This morning it is 
falling in torrents. If it continues long it 
may overwhelm everything in the garden. Joseph 
and I can only stand by the window and watch as it 
descends violently on our flowers. Besides being 
drenched, the cosmos are being tossed about until 
Joseph wonders if their stakes will hold firmly in 
the ground; the nasturtiums have wisely tucked 
their flowers under their leaves, so that few of them 
are in sight. The border plants are deluged up 
to their heads In water, while the vines on the wall 
have a limp, retreating look. I scarcely have ven- 
tured to look towards the rose fan. But the 
phloxes are standing the storm remarkably well. 
They seem to say: “Come on, good rain, we have 
been without you long enough not to criticise youir 
roughness now that you have come.’* 
It is not only that the rain is falling heavily this 
morning, but the wind is howling over the garden 
as I have never heard it before. Even our house 
trembles now and then in response to its batterings. 
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