h, pa," interrupted Grandma. "I
could almost write a book, pa, while you was tellin' a story."

"Wall, wall, ma! Write a book, if ye want to!" exclaimed Grandpa, with
sweeping force. "I'm sure nobody wants to hender yer writing a book if ye
want to, ma!"

Grandma Keeler heeded not those derisive words. Her mind was bent on
pursuits of a far loftier and more engrossing nature. In respect to the
weather--except on Sabbath mornings, when it was impossible to credit
Grandpa with perfect fairness and impartiality of judgment--Grandma, it
must be said, had real faith in the old sea-captain's prognostications.

"It does look like a shower, and a mighty sudden one," said Emily. She
thrust her knitting-work in her pocket, donned her sun-bonnet, and
departed with other chance occupants of the doorsteps. And Grandma, too,
admitted the prospect of foul weather by throwing a handkerchief over her
head and going out to fetch the milk-pans.

Since early spring Grandma Keeler had put her milk-pans to dry in the sun
on a bench half-way up the "Pastur-Hill." Why she should choose to place
them at such a seemingly capricious and unnecessary distance from the
house, for it was really no inconsiderable journey for Grandma, taking
into account her peculiar style of locomotion; whether she considered
that the rays of the morning sun visited them more directly on that
plane, or that the elevation exposed them to peculiar atmospheric
advantages; these were questions which the curious mind was left to solve
for itself, for the grave office of carrying out and bringing in the
milk-pans was performed by Grandma with an air of mysterious calm, which
admitted of no profane comment or speculation.

Madeline laughed, watching her, the musical notes ringing out with a
touch of insane gayety.

"If ma knew it was Judgment Day," said she, "she'd carry those milk-pans
up the hill to dry, and if she knew it was Judgment Hour she'd go to
fetch 'em."

The scene grew rapidly weird as the sky darkened. A low sigh, like a
premonition, crept through the heavy atmosphere and shivered among the
peach-blossoms.

The first gust of wind seized Grandma, returning with the milk-pans. It
was a zephyr compared with the blasts that followed, but it had the
effect of giving to that good soul's usually composed and reassuring
presence, something of the appearance of a crazy and dismantled ship,
rolling in a high sea.

Grandpa was quick at detecting the resemblance