Slowly the afternoon hours rolled on, one after the other, and Alfred
had just been in a pet with the clock for striking four when he
wanted it to be five, when the sky grew darker, and one or two heavy
drops of rain came plashing down on the thirsty earth.

'The storm is coming at last, and now it will be cooler,' said Ellen,
looking out from the window. 'Dear me!' she added, there stopping
short.

'What?' asked Alfred. 'What are you gaping at?'

'I declare!' cried Ellen, 'it's the new clergyman! It is Mr. Cope,
and he is coming up to the wicket!'

Alfred turned his head with a peevish sound; he was in the dreary
mood to resent whatever took off attention from him for a moment.

'A very pleasant-looking gentleman,' commented Ellen, 'and so young!
He does not look older than Charles Lawrence! I wonder whether he is
coming in, or if it is only to post a letter. Oh! there he is,
talking to Mother! There!'

A vivid flash of lightning came over the room at that moment and made
them all pause till it was followed up by the deep rumble of the
thunder, and then down rushed the rain, plashing and leaping up
again, bringing out the delicious scent from the earth, and seeming
in one moment to breathe refreshment and relief on the sick boy. His
brow was already clearing, as he listened to his mother's tones of
welcome, as she was evidently asking the stranger to sit down and