33 WASTE-LAND WANDEEIXGS. 



you Lad to kind o' twist the words about to make it 



fit." 



" I should think so," I replied. 



'' But not much more than nowadays," he continued. 

 "I'm not goin' back on father's old almanacs and the 

 moon. I've nothin' agin book-learnin', but somehow^ it 

 comes back to me you stayed home once in October, and 

 I got the quails, and stayed home not long ago, and I 

 caught the big bass ;" and Miles looked happy when he 

 finished his little speech. 



It was all true enough, but I subsequently tested his 

 ability as a weather prophet, and summing up the mat- 

 ter at the end of six months, found that just thirty-five 

 per cent, of his predictions were correct. 



I told him this, and he was by no means discomfited. 

 " One-third right !" he exclaimed. " Well, if I size up 

 one-third right at the final reckonin' I guess the Lord 

 will accept t'other two-thirds." 



I recalled- this as I walked towards the creek, and the 

 time p>assed so pleasantly that I forgot the weather of 

 the moment, and the fact that as I left the house the 

 old mercury barometer was "falling" and the wind 

 south- w^est. The grass was dry, too — another bad sign ; 

 but perhaps the clouds were but the edge of a storm 

 that had spent its fury over other regions. Although 

 every indication favored rain, yet there was a chance 

 that it might not, and these " chances " prove so often 

 to be delightful days that I always take them. In the 

 course of a year, I gain far more outings than I get soak- 

 ings. Let it be borne in mind, too, that a rainy day in 

 the woods is better than a fretful one in the house. 



