Carry stood in the door-way with her dolly on one arm and her kitten
hanging over the other. Kitty didn't look comfortable, but she bore up
bravely, only once in a while giving a plaintive mew. Carry gazed into
the bright white sunshine.

"It's melting hot," she said. "I guess, grandma, I'll take my doll and
Friskarina out to the wash-house and have a party."

"Well," said grandma, looking over her spectacles, "I've no objection;
only there's a black cloud coming up, and you may get caught out there
in a thunder storm."

"If I do, can Jake come for me with an umbrella, and can I take off my
shoes and stockings and come home barefoot?"

"Yes; I don't believe it would hurt you."

"Then I'll go;" and Carry picked up a box with a little tea-set in it,
and started off, saying: "Do you believe it'll rain cats and dogs and
pitchforks, grandma? That's what Jake says."

"No, my dear. You'd better ask him if he ever saw such a rain."

"So I will," and away went Carry through the sunshine. And she said to
herself: "Wouldn't it be funny if it did rain so? I guess grandma
wouldn't like it much if cats rained down, 'cause she says five cats are
too many now."

The tea-party on an old chair without a back wasn't much of an affair,
after all; for, although the doll--Miss Rose de Lorme--was propped up