“North, South, East, West,
Weather’s never at its best.
India, Egypt, or Japan,
Give us better, if you can.”
Coppertop blinked at the book of travels, and then at the window, unable to believe her eyes.
It was daybreak, and RAINING HARD.
“Oh dear, oh dear, how dreadfully botherating!” she exclaimed, almost in tears.
“I simply must get a fine December day somehow. It will never do for ‘them’ to arrive on a soaking wet day like this. It’s all the fault of that stupid old clerk of the weather, he does get things so mixed up! Why, this is more like a horrid July day!”
“That’s what it is,” muttered the Book of Travels.
“Oh, I do wish Tibbs and Kiddiwee were here to help me,” continued the child; “I don’t know what to do.”