ticularly amused. Harry had gone away visiting, giving me no definite
idea of when he would return. So, one drizzling, uncomfortable day, as I
was sitting rather disconsolate at my barn window, I was delighted to see
several flags appear on his barn.

Eagerly I read:

1 3 4. "_Can you go a-fishing?_"

The fine drizzling rain was changing into larger drops, and there was
every reasonable prospect of a very wet day, and I thought he must be
joking; but I answered:

"_When?_"

"_Now_," was the reply.

"_Where?_" I asked.

"_Bixbee's pond._"

"_Are you in earnest?_"

"_I will meet you there._"

I answered "_Yes_," and, shouldering my fish-pole, started off
across-lots. The distance was fully a mile and a half, and before I had
passed over a quarter of the distance the bushes, dripping with rain, had
completely drenched me. When nearly there the increasing rain became a
heavy shower; but I kept on. I reached the pond, but nothing was to be
seen of Harry. Not a frog could I find for bait, owing to the incessantly
pouring rain, and I knew it would be difficult to find a worm. So, after
half an hour of tedious waiting and monotonous soaking, I started for
Harry's, my patience entirely worn out.

The rain came down in torrents as, at length, I turned in at the gate;
and I suppose I looked as forlorn as a drenched rooster, for I heard a
girlish giggle as I stepped upon the piazza, but I did not then suspect
the truth.

"Where's Harry?" I asked of his mother whom I found alone.

"Why, you didn't expect to find him at home, did you? He won't be back
for a number of days yet."

(Another subdued giggle from the next room.)

"You're as wet as a drowned rat!" went on the motherly woman. "What on
earth started you out in this rain?"

"It's that Hattie's work!" I burst out angrily, and told her the whole
story.

"Dear me!" she exclaimed, holding up her hands, despairingly, "I never
did see such a torment as that girl is! I noticed she has seemed very
much tickled over something! I'll give her a real scolding!"

I darted out the door; and, as I splashed my way disconsolately down to
the road, I heard a voice, struggling between repentance and a desire to
laugh, call after me:

"Forgive me, Charlie, but it was _such_ a joke!"

Hattie never meddled with her brother's signals again. For her mother's
displeasure and the severe cold that followed my drenching more than
balanced the enjoyment she derived from that ve