CHAPTER IX 



One's Own Back Door-yard 



IT was about ten o'clock of as dismal a Sat- 

 urday morning as ever spoiled a boy's fun by 

 raining. 



Old Ben and I had planned a fishing trip 

 that would have been memorable among all 

 the good times we had enjoyed together, but 

 it had rained so hard that my mother had 

 vetoed our going. 



The lunch basket was packed, the bait dug, 

 and everything was in readiness except the 

 weather. 



But how it did rain! Great gusts of wind 

 drove the rain before it in blinding sheets, and 

 small rivulets ran in the road, and in the walk. 



If it had only been just a drizzle we would 

 not have minded. The fishing would have 



