THE STORM
Terry was right. The change came the very next afternoon. Rosie had
finished her papers and was on her way home when suddenly the wind rose
and great masses of black storm-clouds came driving across the sky.
Thunder rumbled, lightning crackled, and in a few minutes rain came
swishing down in great long, splashy drops.
Instead of running for shelter, Rosie obeyed the impulse of the moment
and stood where she was. She clutched a lamp-post to keep from being
blown away, and then, turning her face to the sky, let the sweet,
comforting rain wash down upon her and soak her through and through.
It was like a great, cool, refreshing shower-bath: it washed the dusty
earth clean once again; it brought back a crispness to the air; it
loosened the nervous tension under which all living things had been
straining for days.
The clouds broke as suddenly, almost, as they had gathered. Watching
them, Rosie sighed and shivered. "Oh, but that was nice!" Her hair was
plastered over her head in loose, wet little ringlets, and her clothes
hung tightly about her body. When she walked, her old shoes oozed and
gurgled with water. She hurried home; yes, actually hurried, for it was
cool enough to hurry; and besides, her wet clothes were beginning to
chill her.
Janet McFadden met her with shining eyes. "Oh, Rosie, what do you think?
She's asleep! And she's just took her bottle, too--all of it, without
waking up! Oh, I'm so happy!"
Rosie looked at Janet affectionately. "You've been awful good, Janet,
helping me this way."
"Good--nuthin'!" Janet scoffed. "Aren't you paying me good money?...
But, Rosie, listen here about Geraldine: I wouldn't be a bit surprised
if things'd be all right now. Those old teeth are certainly through. I
let her bite my finger on both sides, just to see."
Perhaps Janet was right. Perhaps things were arranging themselves.
Rosie's heart sang a tremulous little song of happiness as she rubbed
herself dry and put on fresh clothes. The world wasn't such a bad place
after all, and the people in it weren't so bad, either. There was
Janet--good, kind Janet--and Terry, and nice old George Riley--Rosie
stopped short to scowl at herself in amazement. Then she repeated,
defiantly, _nice old George Riley_. For he _was_ nice! And he always had
been nice, too! What if he had forgotten himself once? Hadn't other
people as well? Hadn't everybody, Rosie herself included, been crazy
with the heat?
As Rosie looked at things now her only surprise was that George hadn't
forgotten himself oftener! Come to think of it, he had kept his temper
better than any one else in the family.... Dear old George! Rosie wanted
to put her arms about his neck that instant and tell him how much she
loved him.
Her first way of doing this was by saying to him as she handed him his
supper-pail at six o'clock: "Oh, Jarge, what do you think? Geraldine's
been asleep all afternoon!" This was a greeting very different from a
cold, "Good-evening, Jarge," and George would understand the difference.
He did. His face beamed with understanding. "I'm awful glad, Rosie;
honest I am!" Then as he ran back to his car he called out: "Rosie, wait
up for me tonight. I've got something to tell you--something fine!"
"All right, Jarge, I will!" Rosie spoke with all her old-time
enthusiasm, and waved him a frantic farewell.