As the sun came out from behind
the clouds the colors grew brighter.
"How lovely!" murmured Amy, clasping her hands.
"Yes, it is the most brilliant bow I have ever seen," added Aunt Kate.
"It seems almost like like a painted one." I would be more poetical if
I were Mr. Lagg," and she laughed.
"It is very vivid," went on Betty. "In fact I have heard it said that
on account of the peculiar situation of this lake, the high mountains
around it, and the clouds, there are brighter rainbows here than
anywhere else in this country. That is how the lake got its name--
Rainbow. It was the Indians who first gave it that, I was told, though
I don't know the Indian name for rainbow."
"We don't need to-- this is beautiful as it is," murmured Grace. "Oh,
isn't it wonderful!" and they stood there admiring the beautiful
scene, and recalling the old story of the bow-- the promise of the
Creator after the flood that never again would the world be submerged.
Then the light gradually died from the colored arches, to be repeated
again in the wonderful cloud effects at sunset. The storm had been
like the weeping of a little child, who smiles before its tears-- and
afterward.
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