So, reluctantly, you sought father.
“Well, John?” he prompted as you stood before him.
Sharpened to X-ray acuteness through strenuous sire-ship, he interpreted perfectly what was forthcoming.
“Can I go fishin’ to-morrow?”
“But you have the yard to rake, you know, don’t you?”
“I’ll rake it after school next week.”
The promise tumbled eagerly out for inspection, and father summarily condemned it.
“You promised that if I let you off last Saturday you’d rake it this week—”
“It rained,” you faltered.
So it did. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday you had carefully reconnoitered, estimated, circled the prospect, so to speak; given the yard every chance within your power to rake itself, and thus add to nature phenomena; and then, on Friday, when you had got all ready, had come the rain, and balked your farther efforts.