"That's the way to talk!" said her father, approvingly. "Now you try, Kingdon, to meet the situation as it should be met."
"I will, sir. I'm just as disappointed as I can be, but I suppose there's no use crying over spilt milk,—I mean spilt raindrops."
"That's good philosophy, my boy. Now, Kitty, what have you to say by way of cheering us all up?"
"I can't see much fun in a day like this. But I hope we can have the picnic on the next Ourday."
"That's a brave, cheerful spirit. Now, my sad and disheartened crew, take your seats at the breakfast table, and listen to your foolishly optimistic old father."
The children half-heartedly took their places, but seemed to have no thought of eating breakfast.
"Wowly-wow-wow!" said Mr. Maynard, looking around the table. "What a set of blue faces! Would it brighten you up any if I should prophesy that at dinner-time to-night you will all say it has been the best Ourday we've ever had, and that you're glad it rained?"
"Oh, Father!" said Marjorie, in a tone of wondering reproach, while Kitty and King looked blankly incredulous, and Mrs. Maynard smiled mysteriously.