I.

"Even a child is known by his doings."--_Prov. 20:11._

How it did rain! For two long months the sky had been one unchangeable

color of blue; but now the dark clouds hung low and touched the horizon

at every point dropping their long-accumulated water on the thirsty

barrens, soaking the dried-up fields and meadows. The earth was thirsty,

and the sky had at last taken pity. It rained all day. The water-ditches

along the streets of the village ran thick and black. The house-wife's

tubs and buckets under the dripping eaves were overrunning. The dust was

washed from the long rows of trees which lined the streets.

It rained steadily all over the valley. The creek which came from the

mountains, and which distributed its waters to the town and adjacent

farm-lands, was unusually muddy. Up in the canyon, just above the town,

it seemed to leap over the rocks with unwonted fury, dashing its brown

waters into white foam. The town below, the farms and gardens of the

whole valley, depended for their existence on that small river. Through

the long, hot summer its waters had been distributed into streams and

sub-streams like the branches of a great tree, and had carried the

life-giving element to the growing vegetation in the valley; but now it

was master no more. The rain was pouring down on places which the river

could not reach. No wonder the river seemed angry at such usurpation.

About two miles from town, upon the high bench-land which lay above the

waters in the river, stood a hut. It was built of unhewn logs, and had a

mud roof. Stretches of sagebrush desert reached in every direction from

it. A few acres of cleared land lay near by, its yellow stubble drinking

in the rain. A horse stood under a shed. A pile of sagebrush with ax and

chopping block lay in the yard.

Evening came on and still it rained. A woman often appeared at the door

of the hut, and a pale, anxious face peered out into the twilight. She

looked out over the bench-land and then up to the mountains. Through the

clouds which hung around their summits, she could see the peaks being

covered with snow. She looked at the sky, then again along the plain.

She went in, closed the door, and filled the stove from the brush-wood

in the box. A little girl was sitting in the corner by the stove, with

her feet resting on the hearth.

"I thought I heard old Reddy's bell," she said, looking up to her

mother.

"No; I heard nothing. Poor boy, he must be wet through."

The mud roof was leaking, and pans and buckets were placed here and

there to catch the water. The bed had been moved a number of times to

find a dry spot, but at last two milk pans and a pail had to be placed

on it. Drip, drip, rang the tins--and it still rained.

The mother went again to the door. The clang of cow-bells greeted her,

and in a few minutes, a boy drove two cows into the shed. The mother

held the door open while he came stamping into the house. He was a boy

of about fifteen, wearing a big straw hat pressed down over his brown

hair, a shabby coat, blue overalls with a rend up one leg, ragged shoes,

but no stockings. He was wet to the skin, and a pool of water soon

accumulated on the floor where he paused for an instant.

"Rupert, you're wet through. How long you have been! You must get your

clothes off," anxiously exclaimed his mother.

"Phew!" said he, "that's a whoopin' big rain. Say, mother, if we'd only

had this two months ago, now, on our dry farm, wouldn't we have raised a

crop though."

"You must get your clothes off, Rupert."

"Oh, that's nothin'. I must milk first; and say, I guess the mud's

washed off the roof by the looks of things. I guess I'll fix it."

"Never mind now, you're so wet."

"Well, I can't get any wetter, and I'll work and keep warm. It won't do

to have the water comin' in like this--look here, there's a mud puddle

right on Sis's back, an' she don't know it."

He laughed and went out. It was quite dark, but the rain had nearly

ceased. With his wheel-barrow and shovel he went to a ravine close by

and obtained a load of clay, which he easily threw up on the roof of the

low "lean-to"; then he climbed up and patched the holes. A half hour's

work and it was done.

"And now I'll milk while I'm at it," he said; which he did.

"I've kept your supper warm," said his mother, as she busied with the

table. "It's turned quite cold. Why did you stay so long today?"

Rupert had changed his wet clothes, and the family was sitting around

the table eating mush and milk. A small lamp threw a cheery light over

the bare table and its few dishes, over the faces of mother, boy, and

girl. It revealed the bed, moved back into its usual corner, shone on

the cupboard with its red paint nearly worn off, and dimly lighted the

few pictures hanging on the rough whitewashed wall.

It was a poor home, but the lamplight revealed no discontent in the

faces around the table. True, the mother's was a little pinched and

careworn, which gave the yet beautiful face a sharp expression; but the

other two countenances shone with health and happiness. The girl was

enjoying her supper, the bright sagebrush fire, and the story book by

the side of her bowl, all at the same time. She dipped, alternately,

into her bowl and into her book.

The boy was the man of that family. He had combed his hair well back,

and his bright, honest face gleamed in the light. He was big and strong,

hardened by constant toil, matured beyond his years by the

responsibility which had been placed upon him since his father's death,

now four years ago. In answer to his mother's inquiries, Rupert

explained:

"You see, the cows had strayed up Dry Holler, an' I had an awful time a

findin' them. I couldn't hear any bell, neither. Dry Holler creek is

just boomin', an' there's a big lake up there now. The water has washed

out a hole in the bank and has gone into Dry Basin, an' it's backed up

there till now it's a lake as big as Brown's pond. As I stood and looked

at the running water an' the pond, somethin' came into my

head--somethin' I heard down town last summer. An' mother, _we_ must do

it!"

The boy was glowing with some exciting thought. His mother looked at him

while his sister neglected both book and bowl.

"Do what, Rupert?"

"Why, we must have Dry Basin, an' I'll make a reservoir out of it, an'

we'll have water in the summer for our land, an' it'll be just the

thing. With a little work the creek can be turned into the Basin

which'll fill up during the winter an' spring. There's a low place which

we'll have to bank up, an' the thing's done. The ditch'll be the biggest

job, but I think we can get some help on that--but we must have the land

up in Dry Holler now before someone else thinks of it an' settles on it.

Mother, I was just wonderin' why someone hasn't thought of this before."

The mother was taken by surprise. She sat and looked wonderingly at the

boy as he talked. The idea was new to her, but now she thought of it, it

seemed perfectly feasible. Work was the only thing needed; but could she

and her boy do it?

Five years ago when Mr. Ames had moved upon the bench, he had been

promised that the new canal should come high enough to bring water to

his land; but a new survey had been made which had left his farm far

above the irrigation limit. Mr. Ames had died before he could move his

family; and they had been compelled to remain in their temporary hut

these four long, hard years. Rupert had tried to farm without water. A

little wheat and alfalfa had been raised, which helped the little family

to live without actual suffering.

* * * * *

That evening, mother and son talked late into the night. Nina listened

until her eyes closed in sleep. The rain had ceased altogether, and the

moon, hurrying through the breaking clouds, shone in at the little

curtained window. Prayers were said, and then they retired. Peaceful

sleep reigned within. Without, the moonlight illumined the mountains,

shining on the caps of pearly whiteness which they had donned for the

night.