Mrs. Meadows, Mr. Rabbit, Chickamy Crany Crow, and Tickle-My-Toes were very glad to see the children, especially Mrs. Meadows, who did everything she could to make the youngsters feel that they had conferred a great obligation on her by coming back again.  
“I’ll be bound you forgot to bring me the apple I told you about,” said she.
 
But Sweetest Susan had not forgotten. She had one in her pocket. It was not very large, but the sun had painted it red and yellow, and the south winds that kissed it had left it fragrant¹ with the perfume of summer.
 
“Now, I declare!” exclaimed Mrs. Meadows. “To think you should remember an old woman! You are just as good and as nice as you can be!” She thanked Sweetest Susan so heartily² that Buster John began to look and feel uncomfortable,—seeing which, Mrs. Meadows placed her hand gently on his shoulder. “Never mind,” said she, “boys are not expected to be as thoughtful as girls. The next time you come, you may bring me a hatful, if you can manage to think about it.”
 
“He might start wid ’em,” remarked Drusilla, “but ’fo’ he got here he’d set down an’ eat ’em all up, ter keep from stumpin’ his toe an’ spillin’ ’em.”
 
Buster John had a reply ready, but he did not make any, for just at that moment a low, rumbling³ sound was heard. It seemed to come nearer and grow louder, and then it died away in the distance.
 
“What is that?” asked Mrs. Meadows, in an impressive whisper.
 
“Thunder,” answered Mr. Rabbit, who had listened intently. “Thunder, as sure as you’re born.”
 
“Yes,” said Mr. Thimblefinger. “I saw a cloud coming up next door, just before we came through the spring gate.”
 
“I must be getting nervous in my old age,” remarked Mrs. Meadows. “I had an idea that it was too late in the season for thunder-storms.”
 
“That may be so,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger, “but it’s never too late for old man Thunder to rush out on his front porch and begin to cut up his capers⁴. But there’s no harm in him.”
 
“But the Lightning kills people sometimes,” said Buster John.
 
“The Lightning? Oh, yes, but I was talking about old man Thunder,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger. “When I was a boy, I once heard of a little girl”—Mr. Thimblefinger suddenly put his hand over his mouth and hung his head, as if he had been caught doing something wrong.
 
“Why, what in the world is the matter?” asked Mrs. Meadows.
 
“Oh, nothing,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger. “I simply forgot my manners.”
 
“I don’t see how,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, frowning.
 
“Why, I was about to tell a story before I had been asked.”
 
“Well, you won’t disturb me by telling a story, I’m sure,” said Mr. Rabbit. “I can nod just as well when some one is talking as when everything is still. You won’t pester⁵ me at all. Just go ahead.”
 
“Maybe it isn’t story-telling time,” suggested Mrs. Meadows.
 
“Oh, don’t say that,” cried Sweetest Susan. “If it is a story, please tell it.”
 
“Well, it is nothing but a plain, every-day story. After you hear it you’ll lean back in your chair and wonder why somebody didn’t take hold of it and twist it into a real old-fashioned tale. It’s old fashioned enough, the way I heard it, but I always thought that the person who heard it first must have forgotten parts of it.”
 
“We won’t mind that,” said Sweetest Susan.
 
Mr. Thimblefinger settled himself comfortably and began:—
 
“Once upon a time—I don’t know how long ago, but not very long, for the tale was new to me when I first heard it—once upon a time there was a little girl about your age and size who was curious to know something about everything that happened. She wanted to know how a bird could fly, and why the clouds floated, and she was all the time trying to get at the bottom of things.
 
“Well, one day when the sky was covered with clouds, the Thunder came rolling along, knocking at everybody’s door and running a race with the noise it made; the little girl listened and wondered what the Thunder was and where it went to. It wasn’t long before the Thunder came rumbling along again, making a noise like a four-horse wagon⁶ running away on a covered bridge.
 
“While the little girl was standing⁷ there, wondering and listening, an old man with a bundle on his back and a stout⁸ staff in his hand came along the road. He bowed and smiled when he saw the little girl, but as she didn’t return the bow or the smile, being too much interested in listening for the Thunder, he paused and asked her what the trouble was.
 
“‘I hope you are not lost?’ he said.
 
“‘Oh, no, sir,’ she replied; ‘I was listening for the Thunder and wondering where it goes.’
 
“‘Well, as you seem to be a very good little girl,’ the old man said, ‘I don’t mind telling you. The Thunder lives on top of yonder mountain. It is not so far away.’
 
“‘Oh, I should like ever so much to go there!’ exclaimed the little girl.
 
“‘Why not?’ said the old man. ‘The mountain is on my road, and, if you say the word, we’ll go together.’
 
“The little girl took the old man’s hand and they journeyed toward the mountain where the Thunder had his home. The way was long, but somehow they seemed to go very fast. The old man took long strides forward, and he was strong enough to lift the little girl at every step, so that when they reached the foot of the mountain she was not very tired.
 
“But, as the mountain was very steep and high, the two travelers stopped to rest themselves before they began to climb it. Its sides seemed to be rough and dark, but far up on the topmost peak the clouds had gathered, and from these the Lightning flashed incessantly⁹. The little girl saw the flashes and asked what they meant.
 
“‘Wherever the Thunder lives,’ replied the old man, ‘there the Lightning builds its nest. No doubt the wind has blown the clouds about and torn them apart and scattered¹⁰ them. The Lightning is piling them together again, and fixing a warm, soft place to sleep to-night.’
 
“When they had rested awhile, the old man said it was time to be going, and then he made the little girl climb on his back. At first she didn’t want the old man to carry her; but he declared that she would do him a great favor by climbing on his back and holding his bundle in place. So she sat upon the bundle, and in this way they went up the high mountain, going almost as rapidly as the little girl could run on level ground. She enjoyed it very much, for, although the old man went swiftly, he went smoothly¹¹, and the little girl felt as safe and as comfortable as if she had been sitting in a rocking-chair.
 
“When they had come nearly to the top of the mountain, the old man stopped and lifted the little girl from his back. ‘I can go no farther,’ he said. ‘The rest of the way you will have to go alone. There is nothing to fear. Up the mountain yonder you can see the gable of the Thunder’s house. Go to the door, knock, and do not be alarmed at any noise you hear. When the time comes for you to go, you will find me awaiting you here.’
 
“The little girl hesitated, but she had come so far to see where the Thunder lived that she would not turn back now. So she went forward, and soon came to the door of Mr. Thunder’s house. It was a very big door to a very big house. The knocker was so heavy that the little girl could hardly lift it, and when she let it fall against the panel, the noise it made jarred the building and sent a loud echo rolling and tumbling down the mountain. The little girl thought, ‘What have I done? If the Thunder is taking a nap before dinner, he’ll be very angry.’
 
“She waited a little while, not feeling very comfortable. Presently she heard heavy footsteps coming down the wide hall to the door.
 
“‘I thought I heard some one knocking,’ said a hoarse¹², gruff voice. Then the big door flew open, and there, standing before her, the little girl saw a huge figure that towered almost to the top of the high door. It wore heavy boots, a big overcoat, and under its long, thick beard there was a muffler a yard wide. The little girl was very much frightened at first, but she soon remembered that there was nothing for such a little bit of a girl to be afraid of.
 
“The figure, that seemed to be so terrible at first glance, had nothing threatening about it. ‘Who knocked at the door?’ it cried.
 
“Its voice sounded so loud that the little girl put her fingers in her ears.
 
“‘Don’t talk so loud, please,’ she said. ‘I’m not deaf.’
 
“‘Oh!’ cried the giant at the door. ‘You are there, are you? You are so small I didn’t see you at first. Come in!’
 
“The little girl started to go in, and then paused. ‘Are you the Thunder?’ she asked.
 
“‘Why, of course,’ was the reply; ‘who else did you think it was?’
 
“‘I didn’t know,’ said the little girl. ‘I wanted to be certain about it.’
 
“‘Come in,’ said the Thunder. ‘It isn’t often I have company from the people below, and I’m glad you found me at home.’
 
The Thunder led the way down the hall and into a wide sitting-room¹³, where a fire was burning brightly in the biggest fireplace the little girl had ever seen. A two-horse wagon could turn around in it without touching¹⁴ the andirons. A pair of tongs¹⁵ as tall as a man stood in one corner, and in the other corner was a shovel¹⁶ to match. A long pipe lay on the mantel.
 
“‘There’s no place for you to sit except on the floor,’ said the Thunder.
 
“‘I can sit on the bed,’ suggested the little girl.
 
“The Thunder laughed so loudly that the little girl had to close her ears again. ‘Why, that is no bed,’ the Thunder said when it could catch its breath; ‘that’s my footstool.’
 
“‘Well,’ said the little girl, ‘it’s big enough for a bed. It’s very soft and nice.’
 
“‘I find it very comfortable,’ said the Thunder, ‘especially when I get home after piloting a tornado¹⁷ through the country. It is tough work, as sure as you are born.’
 
“The Thunder took the long pipe from the mantel and lit it with a pine splinter, the flame of which flashed through the windows with dazzling brightness.
 
“‘Folks will say that is heat lightning,’ remarked the little girl.
 
“‘Yes,’ replied the Thunder; ‘farmers to the north of us will say there is going to be a drought, because of lightning in the south. Farmers to the south of us will say there’s going to be rain, because of lightning in the north. None of them knows that I am smoking my pipe.’
 
“But somehow, in turning around, the Thunder knocked the big tongs over, and they fell upon the floor with a tremendous crash. The floor appeared to give forth¹⁸ a sound like a drum, only a thousand times louder, and, although the little girl had her fingers in her ears, she could hear the echoes roused under the house by the falling tongs go rattling¹⁹ down the mountain side and out into the valley beyond.
 
“The Thunder sat in the big armchair smoking, and listening with legs crossed. The little girl appeared to be sorry that she had come.
 
“‘Now, that is too bad,’ said the Thunder. ‘The Whirlwind in the south will hear that and come flying; the West Wind will hear it and come rushing, and they will drag the clouds after them, thinking that I am ready to take my ride. But it’s all my fault. Instead of turning the winds in the pasture, I ought to have put them in the stable. Here they come now!’
 
“The little girl listened, and, sure enough, the whirlwinds from the south and the west came rushing around the house of the Thunder. The west wind screamed around the windows, and the whirlwinds from the south whistled through the cracks and keyholes.
 
“‘I guess I’ll have to go with them,’ said the Thunder, rising from the chair and walking around the room. ‘It’s the only way to quiet them.’
 
“‘Do you always wear your overcoat?’ the little girl asked.
 
“‘Always,’ replied the Thunder. ‘There’s no telling what moment I’ll be called. Sometimes I go just for a frolic, and sometimes I am obliged to go. Will you stay until I return?’
 
“‘Oh, no,’ the little girl replied; ‘the house is too large. I should be afraid to stay here alone.’
 
“‘I am sorry,’ said the Thunder. ‘Come and see me get in my carriage.’
 
“They went to the door. The whirlwinds from the south and the winds from the west had drawn²⁰ the clouds to the steps, and into these the Thunder climbed.
 
“‘Good-by,’ he cried to the little girl. ‘Stay where you are until we are out of sight.’
 
“There was a flash of light, a snapping sound, a rattling crash, and the Thunder, with the clouds for his carriage and the winds for his horses, went roaming and rumbling through the sky, over the hills and valleys.”
 
Mr. Thimblefinger paused and looked at the children. They, expecting him to go on, said nothing.
 
“How did you like my story?” he asked.
 
“Is it a story?” inquired Buster John.
 
“Well, call it a tale,” said Mr. Thimblefinger.
 
“Hit’s too high up in de elements for ter suit me,” said Drusilla, candidly²¹.
 
“What became of the little girl?” asked Sweetest Susan.
 
“When the Thunder rolled away,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, “she went back to where the old man was awaiting her, and he, having nothing to do, carried her to the Jumping-Off Place.”