Guggle, guggle, spit, spit,—the blessed shower continued to fall; and at last its roar was louder than the flames had ever been. The spark had met its match.
"Ah! what a glad sound that was to the group under the wagon! The children laughed for joy. They crept out to catch the cool flood upon their parched limbs. But the mother did not stir. Her face was hidden in her hands. I think she was praying.
"Hours and hours did the rain continue. It fought the fire as mortal foes fight, it wrestled and beat it down, and tore and trampled it under foot. But to the last the eye of the little spark gleamed red and vengeful, and only when it was cold in death did its fury go out. Water had won the day."
Max and Thekla had been too horrified to move during this story, which August recited rapidly and with great excitement. Tears were running down Thekla's face when he ended. "And the children," said she, "what did they do?"
