s coolly as if
lovely Lily-toe babies were an every-day affair.

Meanwhile, and for many days before, great distress was going on in the
fields and gardens for lack of rain. The young corn was drooping, the
vines fainting, the sweet red roses opening languidly, the grasses
growing dry and brittle to the bite of the patient cows and nibbling
sheep. Everything, except Lily-toes, was expressing a desire for rain.
In fact, all through the night before this story of a wronged baby
opens, the hills, woods, fields, and gardens, had been praying for rain
according to their individual needs, the maples and elms desiring a
"regular soaker," while the lowly pansies lifted their fevered little
palms to the stars and begged but a few drops.

And the rain came. Slowly up the western skies rose a solid cloud. No
attention was paid it for some time, it came on so quietly and serenely.
But, by and by, the cows came sauntering down to the barn-yard bars as
if they thought it was milking-time, and the sheep huddled together
under the great elms. Grandpa and his big man commenced raking the hay
together vigorously, and a sudden, cool, puffy breeze began to ruffle
the little rings of hair on Lily-toes' head, and send the small chickens
careening over the knot-grass in such fashion that the careful
mother-hen put her head out of her little house and called them in. And
still in the cool, pleasant sitting-room, with its cheerful talk and
laughter, the approach of the storm was hardly noticed. Grandma, the
most thoughtful body present, remarked that she believed it was
"clouding up a little," and mamma said she hoped so. And then the talk
went on about making dresses and the best way to put up strawberries and
spiced currants. But when big drops came suddenly plashing against the
windows and a lively peal of thunder rolled overhead, then there was a
scattering in the sitting-room. The aunties scampered out through a side
door to snatch some clothes from the grass-plot, and to gather up the
bright tin pans and pails that had been sunning on the long benches.
Grandma, throwing her apron over her head, ran to see that some precious
young turkeys were under shelter. The visitors hurried to the door,
bewailing the windows they had left open at home, and hoping their
husbands _would_ have sense enough to see to things. And the mamma ran
upstairs to close the windows and potter over some collars and ruffles
that had blown about, never thinking of ba