McGraw©Hill/Focus/A Letter To God p. 347////R7N21/ ***** The House©©the only one in the whole valley©© stood at the

top of a low hill that looked like one of those primitive,

truncated pyramids some wandering tribes abandoned when they

moved on. From there you could see the meadows, the river, the

stubble pasture, and next to the corral the field of ripe corn

with beans blossoming purple among the stalks©©the unmistakable

sign of a good crop. The only thing the earth needed was a good

rain, or at least one of those heavy showers that form puddles

between the rows. To doubt that it would rain would have been

the same as mistrusting the experience of veteran farmers who

believed in planting on a certain day of the year. Lencho, who knew the country well, had spent the morning

scanning the sky to the northeast. "Now at last the rain is really coming old girl." And his wife, who was cooking dinner, replied: "May God

grant it." The older children worked in the field while the younger

ones played near the house until their mother called to them all:

"Come for dinner..." It was during the meal that great drops of rain began to

fall, as Lencho had predicted. Mountainous masses of clouds

could be seen coming from the mortheast, and the air was fresh

and cool. The man went out to fetch some implements that had

been left on a stone fence, just to feel the pleasurable

sensation of the rain on his body. When he came in, he

exclaimed: "These are not drops of water falling from the sky,