THE STORM
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bows here than anywhere else in this country. That is how the lake got its name—Rainbow. It was the Indians who first gave it that, I was told, though I don't know the Indian name for rainbow."
"We don't need to—this is beautiful as it is," murmured Grace. " Oh, isn't it wonderful!" and they stood there admiring the beautiful scene, and recalling the old story of the bow—the promise of the Creator after the flood that never again would the world be submerged.
Then the light gradually died from the colored arches, to be repeated again in the wonderful cloud effects at sunset. The storm had been like the weeping of a little child, who smiles before its tears—and afterward.
