729 
they couldn’t for the life of them understand why Beda should be giv¬ 
ing a party. 
Meanwhile, the eclipse was under way. But they took little notice 
of it. Only for a moment, when the sky turned blackish gray, when 
all nature seemed under a leaden pall, and there came driving a howl¬ 
ing wind with sounds as of the Trumpet of Doom and the lamenta¬ 
tions of Judgment Day—only then did they pause and feel a bit awed. 
But here they each had a fresh cup of coffee, and the feeling soon 
passed. 
When all was over, and the Sun stood out in the heavens so beam- 
ingly happy,—it seemed to them it had not shone with such brilliancy 
and power the whole year,—they saw old Beda go over to the window, 
and stand with folded hands. Looking out toward the sunlit slope, 
she sang in her quavering voice: 
Thy shining sun goes up again, 
I thank Thee, O my Lord! 
With new-found courage, strength and hope, 
I raise a song of joy. 
Thin and transparent, old Beda stood there in the light of the 
window, and as she sang the sunbeams danced about her, as if wanting 
to give her, also, of their life and strength and color. 
When she had finished the old hymn-verse she turned and looked 
at her guests, as if in apology. 
“You see,” she said, “I haven’t any better friend than the Sun, 
and I wanted to give her a party on the day of her eclipse. I felt that 
we should come together to greet her, when she came out of her dark¬ 
ness.” 
Now they understood what old Beda meant, and their hearts 
were touched. They began to speak well of the sun. “She was kind 
to. rich and poor alike, and when she came peeping into the hut on a 
winter’s day, she was as comforting as a glowing fire on the hearth. 
Just the sight of her smiling face made life worth living, whatever the 
troubles one had to bear.” 
The women went back to their homes after the party, happy and 
content. They somehow felt richer and more secure in the thought 
that they had a good, faithful friend in the Sun. 
