Then they fought worse than ever, and neither seemed willing to yield.

[Illustration:  Raining cats and dogs.]

But the fight ended in a strange way.  Just as the dog again laid Puss low, a tremendous shower of pitchforks fell, beating on everything with dreadful effect.  Sir John saved himself by getting under a tree, but poor Puss couldn’t move to a shelter, and his remaining seven lives were being rapidly knocked out of him, when the brave dog rushed out into the storm and proved himself a generous foe by shielding Puss from the pitchforks with his own body.

“You are a dear good dog!” cried Carry.  “I always loved you the best!” But even as she was speaking there came a terrific clap of thunder, and her own cat, who had been trembling with fear, sprang to her shoulder and buried her claws there and as Carry shrieked with fright and pain, Jake was holding her in his arms.

“Were you frightened, out here all alone?” said he.  “I was busy and I didn’t think you’d mind the rain; but when the thunder began I came out quick.”

“Rain?” said Carry, “I don’t mind rain, Jake; but I don’t like it to rain cats and dogs when they fight.  Why, where are they?” She lifted her face from Jake’s shoulder, and looked about her amazed, for not a cat was to be seen nor a dog, but only the steady rain, pouring straight down.

“Cats and dogs!” said Jake, laughing.

“And pitchforks, too, Jake,—­yes, really!”

“Well,” said Jake; “if you aint the most curious little gal!”

But Carry don’t think she is half as curious as other people are who wont believe what she saw with her own eyes.

[Illustration:  We came,—­we saw,]

[Illustration:  We left.]

UNDER THE LILACS.

By Louisa M. Alcott.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Somebody comes.

Bab and Betty had been playing in the avenue all the afternoon, several weeks later, but as the shadows began to lengthen both agreed to sit upon the gate and rest while waiting for Ben, who had gone nutting with a party of boys.  When they played house, Bab was always the father, and went hunting or fishing with great energy and success, bringing home all sorts of game, from elephants and crocodiles to humming-birds and minnows.  Betty was the mother, and a most notable little housewife, always mixing up imaginary delicacies with sand and dirt in old pans and broken china, which she baked in an oven of her own construction.

Both had worked hard that day, and were glad to retire to their favorite lounging-place, where Bab was happy trying to walk across the wide top bar without falling off, and Betty enjoyed slow, luxurious swings while her sister was recovering from her tumbles.  On this occasion, having indulged their respective tastes, they paused for a brief interval of conversation, sitting side by side on the gate like a pair of plump gray chickens gone to roost.