"Now, what makes you go and say that, Giraffe? Do you know anything, or
are you just trying to bother me on general principles?" demanded the
stout boy, aggressively.

"Well, perhaps you didn't know it," remarked the other, carelessly, "but
latterly I've taken a notion to study to become a weather prophet. On
the sly I've been getting all the information about goose bones, and all
sorts of signs, wherever I could strike the same. Then I've studied up
how the fellows down at Washington make their guesses, and I'm getting
there right smart. Why, every morning now, for the last three days I've
told myself it was agoing to be fair, and she was, sure pop. Understand
that, Bumpus?"

"I thought something was bothering you, and keeping you from getting as
many fish as I did; but what about this morning, Giraffe, did it look
any different to you; and is the good weather acoming to an end?" asked
Bumpus.

"The signs all pointed to a change this morning," replied the other.
"Now, don't expect me to go into particulars, because there ain't any
need of more'n one weather sharp in our crowd. And say, just cast your
eye over there to the southwest; don't you see that low bank of clouds
along the horizon? Well, when they get to moving up on us, we're bound
to have, high winds, and p'raps a regular howler of a storm."

Bumpus' face assumed a serious look as he turned quickly to the scout-
master.

"What do you say, Thad?" he queried, for it was never possible to know
whether Giraffe were working off one of his little practical jokes or