He ran out into the downpour, sped across the yard and into the buggy room. ``Don't be afraid, Violet!'' he shouted, and was aghast at the echoes. ``Don't you be afraid!'' He would save her. If there was a fire or a flood he would save Mama first and Violet next. Drenched and shaking, he stood near the sweet-smelling stall and dared to pat her muzzle. ``Don't you be afraid, Violet!''

After the storm, the sky cleared blue and cool, and fragrant air swept the hills. When the sun came out, Stevie strode proudly into Orange Square, smiling like a landlord on industrious tenants. The fountain had brimmed over, the cannon were wet, the soldiers' monument glistened. Even before the benches had dried, the Civil War veterans were straggling back to their places. The great spire shone as if the lightning had polished it. He jumped. The pointed shadow had nearly touched him.

He trailed Ludie to the baseball game in the lot on Kingston Street near the Dutch Reformed.

``Go on home!'' Ludie screeched at him. ``Someone'll tell Papa!''

No one told on Ludie, not even when he slipped live grasshoppers into the mite-box. Ludie did as he pleased.

Ludie took his slingshot and climbed to the rooftop to shoot at crows. Ludie chewed roofer's tar. Ludie had a cigar box full of marbles and shooters, and a Roman candle from last Fourth of July. Ludie hopped rides on freight cars, and was chased by Mr. Yankton, the railroad guard. He came home overheated, ran straight to the ice-chest, and gulped shivery cold water.