CHAPTER XXI 
THE DROUGHT 
E ver since Joseph and I began our garden, we 
have thought of the sun and the clouds as our 
helpers. But now we no longer know what to be- 
lieve about them, since suddenly they have turned 
most unfriendly. The July sun, instead of merely 
warming the soil and coaxing the plants to grow, 
has become a fiery enemy. Its touch scorches and 
burns. The clouds no longer send kind rains, but 
pass and repass each other on a sky so clearly blue 
that it looks as if they had forgotten the needs of 
the earth. 
“The drought has begun,” Timothy Pennell 
told us. 
“The drought is upon us,” say the gardeners at 
Nestly Heights and at Miss Wiseman’s; while 
Joseph and I gaze at each other and wonder what 
we are to do. A sadly withered look is to be no^ 
ticed about many of our vines and plants : even 
the shrubs are showing their need of a good, long 
drink of rain-water. 
Of course, every evening at twilight Joseph or 
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