“Come along!” cried Tibbs, who was seated upon a puff of smoke above the chimney-pot, “we thought you were never coming.” “’Es we did!” chimed in Kiddiwee, from a swallow’s nest under the ledge of the chimney. “On the contery,” said Coppertop, as she emerged from the chimney-pot in a dignified fashion, “on the contery, you knew perfectly well I was coming, else you wouldn’t have been waiting here, would you?” “’Spose not!” said Tibbs. “What’s the trouble this time?” “Oh, if you’re going to be grumpy, I shall wish I hadn’t ’magined you,” said Coppertop, looking down her freckled nose and pouting her lips; “and my book’s gone! I can’t see it anywhere!” “Don’t cry, Cece!” piped up a tiny voice from the swallow’s nest. Kiddiwee always took Coppertop’s part in any dispute that arose. “I’m not crying! But he needn’t be so grumpy, and on a beastly old day like this, too!” “That’s why!” cried Tibbs. “You shouldn’t have called us on such a day! It’s warm and cosy in the Far-away-Beyond,” he added, with a shiver. “You don’t seem to understand,” said Coppertop, with tears in her eyes. “Mummie and Daddy are coming home to-day, and it simply _must_ be fine. This is just a horrid July day that’s gone astray! We really can’t have it here on the first of December. Whatever can we do about it?” “So that’s it, is it?” cried Tibbs; “you want us to help you put the weather right?” “Oh, yes!” cried Coppertop eagerly. “It’s not for myself, it’s for Mummie and Daddy!” she added beseechingly. “It’s an awful big interference,” said Tibbs, his eyes beginning to sparkle at the thought of it. “But we’ll do it.” “’Es, so we will,” agreed Kiddiwee. “We’ll push this beastly old July day back to its right month, and find the December day that ought to be here. My, but it will be a spree!” and Tibbs rubbed his hands delightedly. “That’s right! I knew I could depend on you!” said Coppertop, and her pale cheeks began to glow with excitement. “’Es, but how?” asked Kiddiwee anxiously. “I don’t know exactly how,” replied Coppertop, “but it _must_ be done! Perhaps we’d better call on the Clerk of the Weather, he ought to be able to help us!” And so saying, off they flew to interview that important personage. CHAPTER III. THEY MAKE AN ENEMY “What do you want here?” cried the Clerk of the Weather, crossly. It wasn’t a very nice greeting, especially as the three anxious children had been standing and knocking upon the thundercloud door of the Clerk’s house for the last half hour. It was Monday morning, and the Clerk of the Weather was never at his best on Monday. A muddler at all times, on Monday he was usually the most muddled muddler who ever muddled muddles! “He’s cross as two sticks!” whispered Tibbs; “we shan’t get much help from him.” “I wonder if he is related to Mrs. Grudge,” said Coppertop in a subdued voice; “he has her nose----” “And her temper,” agreed Tibbs.