"I thought I heard old Reddy's bell," she said, looking up to her
mother.

"No; I heard nothing. Poor boy, he must be wet through."

The mud roof was leaking, and pans and buckets were placed here and
there to catch the water. The bed had been moved a number of times to
find a dry spot, but at last two milk pans and a pail had to be placed
on it. Drip, drip, rang the tins--and it still rained.

The mother went again to the door. The clang of cow-bells greeted her,
and in a few minutes, a boy drove two cows into the shed. The mother
held the door open while he came stamping into the house. He was a boy
of about fifteen, wearing a big straw hat pressed down over his brown
hair, a shabby coat, blue overalls with a rend up one leg, ragged shoes,
but no stockings. He was wet to the skin, and a pool of water soon
accumulated on the floor where he paused for an instant.

"Rupert, you're wet through. How long you have been! You must get your
clothes off," anxiously exclaimed his mother.

"Phew!" said he, "that's a whoopin' big rain. Say, mother, if we'd only
had this two months ago, now, on our dry farm, wouldn't we have raised a
crop though."

"You must get your clothes off, Rupert."

"Oh, that's nothin'. I must milk first; and say, I guess the mud's
washed off the roof by the looks of things. I guess I'll fix it."