'It was only a shower,' said Dr. Winship, as he seated himself on a
damp board and partook of a moist breakfast, 'and with this sun the
tents will be dry before night; Elsie has caught no cold, the dust
will be laid, and we can stay another week with safety.'
Everybody was hilarious over this decision save the men-of-all-work,
who longed unspeakably for a less poetic existence--Hop Yet
particularly, who thought camping out 'not muchee good.'
Dicky was more pleased than anybody, perhaps, as every day in the
canyon was one day less in school; not that he had ever been to
school, but he knew in advance, instinctively, that it wouldn't suit
him. Accordingly, he sought the wettest possible places and played
all day with superhuman energy. He finally found Hop Yet's box of
blueing under a tree, in a very moist and attractive state of
fluidity, and just before dinner improved the last shining hour by
painting himself a brilliant hue and appearing at dinner in such a
fiendish guise that he frightened the family into fits.
Now Dr. Winship was one of the most weather-wise men in California,
and his predictions were always quite safe and sensible; but somehow
or other it did rain again in two or three days, and it poured harder
than ever, too. To be sure, it cleared promptly, but the doctor was
afraid to trust so fickle a person as the Clerk of the Weather had
become, and marching orders were issued.
The boys tramped over all their favourite bits of country, and the
girls visited all their best beloved haunts, every one of them dear
from a thousand charming associations.
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