A DOUBLE STORY

BY GEORGE MACDONALD.

NEW YORK:






A DOUBLE STORY

I.





There was a certain country where things used to go rather oddly.
For instance, you could never tell whether it was going to rain or
hail, or whether or not the milk was going to turn sour. It was
impossible to say whether the next baby would be a boy, or a girl,
or even, after he was a week old, whether he would wake
sweet-tempered or cross.

In strict accordance with the peculiar nature of this country of
uncertainties, it came to pass one day, that in the midst of a
shower of rain that might well be called golden, seeing the sun,
shining as it fell, turned all its drops into molten topazes, and