. The long ago. TheRain. It is early, and Saturday morning—very, veryearly. Listen! . . An unmistakable drip, drip,drip . . and the room is dark. A bound out of bed—a quick step to the window—-an anxious peering through the wet panes. . and the confirmation is complete. It is raining—and on Saturday; the familiar leadenskies and steady drip that spell permanency and sendthe robin to the shelter of some thick bush, and leaveonly an occasional undaunted swallow cleaving theair on swift wing. In all the world there is no sadness like thatwhich in boyhood sends you back to bed on Satur-day morning
. The long ago. TheRain. It is early, and Saturday morning—very, veryearly. Listen! . . An unmistakable drip, drip,drip . . and the room is dark. A bound out of bed—a quick step to the window—-an anxious peering through the wet panes. . and the confirmation is complete. It is raining—and on Saturday; the familiar leadenskies and steady drip that spell permanency and sendthe robin to the shelter of some thick bush, and leaveonly an occasional undaunted swallow cleaving theair on swift wing. In all the world there is no sadness like thatwhich in boyhood sends you back to bed on Satur-day morning with the mournful drip, drip, drip of asteady rain doling in your ears. Out in the woodshed there is a can of the largest,fattest angle-worms ever dug from a rich garden-plot—all so happily, so feverishly, so exultantly cap-tured last night when Anticipation strengthened thelittle muscles that wielded the heavy spade. All safe in their black soil they wait, coiled round andround each other into a solid
Size: 1828px × 1367px
Photo credit: © Reading Room 2020 / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, bookidlongago01wri, bookyear1916
