ook at the weather. Sure enough, black clouds had formed in the
west, and were marching relentlessly up the sky. The whole family
came out to look. In the east the sun blazed bright and unconcerned.
The old pig ran past them carrying a wisp of hay in her mouth, and by
common impulse three of the boys threw sticks after her. She was just
trying to make it rain--she couldn't go to the picnic herself, and
she'd just like to see it rain! Little whirls of wind circled around
in the hip-yard, and there was an ominous roll of distant thunder.
Loud wails broke from Bugsey, Danny, and Mary, and when the edge of
the cloud went over the sun and the whole landscape darkened the
wails became general.

"Come into the house," commanded Pearl, "it's only goin' to be a
shower and lay the dust. Cheer up, there's enough blue 'sky to make a
pair of pants, and it's not time for us to be goin' yet, anyway."

The tearful family followed her into the house and sat in doleful
silence watching the big drops that began to beat on the western
window.

Pearl was a strong believer in work as a remedy for worry. Jimmy was
put to tightening up the buttons on his new suit. Tommy blackened
boots with lampblack and lard, and Bugsey, who was weeping copiously,
was put to counting radishes as a little bit of "busy work."

Pearl kept up a brave show of confidence in the weather, but Mrs.
Watson's and Aunt Kate's contributions to the conversation were all
of a humid character and dealt with spoiled feathers, parasols blown
inside out, and muslin dresses so spattered with mud that they were
not worth bringing home.

Pearl continued her preparations in the face of great discouragement.
Aunt Kate foretold a three days' rain--it looked to be settlin' that
way, and besides, look at that old gray hen, she hadn't gone in, and
that was a sure sign of a long rain. This brought a renewed downpour
in the house.

Pearl grew desperate. "Look at all the other hens that did go in,"
she said, as she tied the bows in her own hair. "I don't see the
sense of taking that crazy old ike of a hen's word for it against all
the other hens that have gone in. She's a mournful old thing, and is
staying out to make the other ones feel bad, or else she don't know
enough to go in. Hurry up, Mary, and get all that stuff in; it's a
quarter to eleven now, and we've got Tommy to do yet when he's done
with the boots. It's none of our business whether it rains now or
not. We're not want