IN THE RAIN 149 



&quot;Stylish,&quot; I said, &quot;but foolish. They never 

 do anything that I can see, except attitud 



inize.&quot; 



&quot;But they do a great deal of that,&quot; said 

 Jonathan, as he set him gently down. 



&quot;Come on,&quot; I said; &quot;I can t stand here 

 being sentimental over your pets. It s rain- 

 ing.&quot; 



&quot; Oh, if you d like to go &quot; said Jonathan, 

 and set a pace. 



I followed hard, and we raced down through 

 the empty woods, sliding over the great wet 

 rocks, rolling over black fallen tree trunks, 

 our feet sinking noiselessly in the soft leaf 

 mould of the forest floor. Out again, and 

 through the edge of a cornfield where the 

 broad, wavy ribbon leaves squeaked as we 

 thrust them aside, as only corn leaves can 

 squeak. If we had not been wet already, this 

 would have finished us. There is nothing 

 any wetter than a wet cornfield. 



On over the open pastures, with a grassy 

 swamp at the bottom. We tramped care 

 lessly through it, not even looking for tus 

 socks, and the water sucked merrily in and 

 out of our shoes. Into brush once more 



