Page:Frank Owen - Rare Earth, 1931.djvu/153

 of jewels up which one might run to meet the sun. Enoch would stand speechless, gazing upon it open-mouthed in wonder. Even the fields would feel the glory of the moment. The smell of the wet loam would mingle with the sweet smell of hay. Nor would he move until the warm lights faded. A rainbow to him was an entrancing thing.

Perhaps it was natural for Enoch to love the rain. It may have been a heritage. For ever since childhood Linda had told him fairy tales about the raindrops. When he was very young she had held him in her lap when the rain was falling and crooned softly to him. Li'l raindrops patter. Honey, whut's de matter, Don' yo' hear de patter O' de dancin' rain? Dancin', prancin' On de window-pane. Caperin' about, Want yo' to come out, To play with dem again. Hear yo' playmates knockin',