uoias have lost
their heads by lightning. All things come to him who waits, but of all
living things, Sequoia is perhaps the only one able to wait long enough
to make sure of being struck by lightning. Thousands of years it stands
ready and waiting, offering its head to every passing cloud, as if
inviting its fate, praying for Heaven's fire as a blessing, and when, at
last, the old head is off, another of the same shape immediately grows
on.'"

"And then, I suppose," said Fred, "it will never be struck again.
Lightning never strikes twice in the same place."

"Oh, yes, it does," said the Forecaster. "That's all nonsense. Take the
Eiffel Tower in Paris, for example. That's struck nearly every time
there's a thunderstorm. But lightning can't hurt the Eiffel Tower
because practically the entire building is a lightning-rod and it has
been very carefully grounded into deep wells, a long way below the
ground."

"I've been wondering," said Anton thoughtfully, with his characteristic
opening, "just how a thunder-and-lightning storm happens. You promised
to explain it to me, Mr. Levin," he continued, "and you never have."

"Very good," said the Forecaster, briskly, "I'll explain it now. And you
couldn't have picked a better day for your question, Anton, because we
can see the tail end of that thunderstorm going off to the east, and, if
I'm not mistaken, there's another one coming up to the south-west. Do
you see that layer of cirro-stratus clouds?"

"Yes, sir."

"And do you notice those festoons of cloud, slowly coming down and
dissolving--you see there's one small one there, and another one a
little larger, behind?"

"Sure!"

"Well, those are the heralds of a thunderstorm. We've only seen those
since my nephew began talking about the hurricane, about an hour ago.
Away off on the horizon, though, you can see a bigger bunch of those
festoons, dropping from the five-mile height of the cirro-stratus and
condensing away down lower. This heat that we're now feeling will
diminish, just as soon as that cloud covers the sun, not because the sun
is hidden, but because of a change of wind."

"But the storm's coming up at right angles to the wind," said Tom, "the
wind's a little east of south."

"It'll blow from the north-east presently," declared the Forecaster
oracularly.

"Directly opposite to the storm?" ejaculated the kite expert in
surprise.

"Certainly," was the answer, "that's a part of the thunderstorm
formation.