There wasn’t very much we could do that was exciting enough for a gang of boys and we couldn’t even lie down and roll in the grass—it was still so wet.
“We can all go home and help our folks—maybe offer to hoe potatoes or something,” Poetry said with a heavy sigh, and Circus answered, “It’s too wet to work the ground today—don’t you know that?”
“Sure I know that,” Poetry answered with a grin. “That’s why I said it.”
“What can we do?” Dragonfly asked in a discouraged, whining voice.
It was Little Tom Till who thought of something that sounded interesting. “Let’s all go down to the cave and see the way Old Man Paddler has fixed it up.”
“Yeah,” Little Jim chimed in, “and let’s all go through it up to his cabin and see if maybe he will offer to make us some sassafras tea.”
From the old linden tree, where we were at the time, we rambled along toward the bridge following the shore above the creek, which certainly didn’t look friendly today, even with the cheerful afternoon sun shining down on it. I wished it would hurry up and get back to normal because if there is anything in the world that gives a person a sad feeling, it is to have his favorite swimming hole spoiled by a heavy rain.
“Ho hum,” I sighed as I was climbing over the rail fence at the north road.
“Ho hum, yourself,” Poetry sighed back at me.
Only Little Jim seemed happy. He was standing on the flat surface of the top rail of the fence when he answered Poetry’s and my “ho hum’s,” saying, “What you guys so sad for?”