"'When shall we three meet again, In thunder, lightning, or in rain?'" quoted Regina, giving in for once.
NOT A TRACE OF DERRICK
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"Some rain certainly," agreed the Stripling cheerfully.
It was impossible to imagine a wetter day. The road was almost a rivulet, and the ditches were overflowing. Every leaf and blade of grass dripped tears. Even the birds seemed to have betaken themselves to shelter. The very cattle were huddled under the hedges. A drenched dog leaped through the bars of a gate and scurried past them. Yet the air was fresh and reviving, and there was something rather exhilarating in walking through the wet. It felt almost like sea-bathing. When a sudden squall of wind blew the rain in their faces they could fancy they were breasting a wave. Lesbia in the middle was particularly cheerful. She insisted upon what she called a three-part stunt. Each in turn improvised a line of verse, bringing it out as rapidly as possible.
Regina. The rain it raineth every day.
Lesbia. But in the house we will not stay.
Derrick. The kids we gladly leave behind.
Regina. And go a waterfall to find.