and safe; but with the rain actually falling,
there was nothing to do but go to sleep again and turn the worms back
into the garden if the rain didn't let up by noon.

* * * * *

It is one of the miracles of life that Boyhood can turn grief into joy
and become almost instantly reconciled to the inevitable like a true
philosopher, and change a sorrow into a blessing. The companion miracle
is that Manhood with its years of wisdom forgets how to do this.

And so, when the rainy day becomes hopelessly rainy, and Shoemaker
Schmidt is left alone at the dam, the rain that sounded so dismal at
dawn proves to be a benefactor after all. There will be no
woodsplitting today, no outdoor chores--for if it's too wet to go
fishing, as mother insists, of course it's too wet to carry wood, or
weed gardens or pick cucumbers for pickles. The logic is so obvious and
conclusive that even mother does not press the point when you remind
her of it--and you are free for a whole day in the attic.

Instantly the blessing is manifest--the sadness of that day-break drip,
drip, drip is healed--the whole character of the day is changed, and
the rain-melody becomes not a funeral-march but a dance.

The attic is the place of all places you would most love to be on this
particular calendar day!

How stupid to spoil a perfectly good Saturday by sitting on a hard
beam, with wet spray blowing in your face all the time, and getting all
tired out holding a heavy fish-pole, when here is the attic waiting for
you with its mysterious dark corners, its scurrying mice that suddenly
develop into lions for your bow-and-arrow hunting, and its maneuvers on
the broad field of its floor with yourself as the drum-corps and your
companions as the army equipped with wooden swords and paper helmets!

* * * * *

The day has been rich in adventure, and exploration, and the doing of
great deeds.

And it has been all too short, for the attic is growing dim, and mother
is again calling us--telling us to send our little playmates home and
come and get our bread and milk.

A last arrow is shot into the farthest comer where some undiscovered
jungle beast may be prowling.

A last roll is given to the drum, and the army disbands.

A sudden fear seizes upon us as we realize that night has come and we
are in the attic, alone.

And with no need of further urging we scamper unceremoniously down the
stairs, slam the atti