and he went to sleep, thinking what a
narrow escape he had had. He felt sure that he should save it now, for he
did not think there was the least danger of his being sick on Monday.

A Narrow Escape.

Monday morning came, and, when he awoke, his first movement was, to jump
out of bed, exclaiming,

"Well, I am not sick this morning, am I?"

He had scarcely spoken the words, however, before his ear caught the sound
of rain, and, looking out of the window, he saw, to his utter
consternation, that it was pouring steadily down, and, from the wind and
the gray uniformity of the clouds, there was every appearance of a settled
storm.

"What shall I do?" said Rollo. "What shall I do? Why did I not finish it
on Saturday?"

He dressed himself, went down stairs, and looked out at the clouds. There
was no prospect of any thing but rain. He ate his breakfast, and then went
out, and looked again. Rain, still. He studied and recited his morning
lessons, and then again looked out. Rain, rain. He could not help hoping
it would clear up before night; but, as it continued so steadily, he began
to be seriously afraid that, after all, he should lose his garden.

He spent the day very anxiously and unhappily. He knew, from what his
father had said, that he could not hope to have another day allowed, and
that all would depend on his being able to do the work before night.

At last, about the middle of the afternoon, Rollo came into the room where
his father and mother were sitting, and told his father that it did not
rain a great deal then, and asked him if he might not go out and finish
his weeding; he did not care, he said, if he did get wet.

"But your getting wet will not injure you alone--it will spoil your
clothes."

"Besides, you will take cold," said his mother.

"Perhaps he would not take cold, if he were to put on dry clothes as soon
as he leaves working," said his father; "but wetting his clothes would put
you to a good deal of trouble. No; I'd rather you would not go, on the
whole, Rollo."

Rollo turned away with tears in his eyes, and went out into the kitchen.
He sat down on a bench in the shed where Jonas was working, and looked out
towards the garden. Jonas pitied him, and would gladly have gone and done
the work for him; but he knew that his father would not allow that. At
last, a sudden thought struck him.

"Rollo," said he, "you might perhaps find some old clothes in the garret,
which it would not hur