Blue flags can be inserted in the original thirty combinations in the following manner: 1[2], 12[3], 1[23], 123[4], 12[34], 1[2]3[4], 1[23]4, 1[234], 23[5], 2[35], 234[5], 23[4]5, 2[3]45, 2[3]4[5], 2[34]5, 23[45], 2[345], and so on. Among the many recollections that throng my memory in connection with this subject, is that of an incident which has caused me many a hearty laugh since its occurrence, although at the time I did not feel particularly amused. Harry had gone away visiting, giving me no definite idea of when he would return. So, one drizzling, uncomfortable day, as I was sitting rather disconsolate at my barn window, I was delighted to see several flags appear on his barn. Eagerly I read: 1 3 4. "_Can you go a-fishing?_" The fine drizzling rain was changing into larger drops, and there was every reasonable prospect of a very wet day, and I thought he must be joking; but I answered: "_When?_" "_Now_," was the reply. "_Where?_" I asked. "_Bixbee's pond._" "_Are you in earnest?_" "_I will meet you there._" I answered "_Yes_," and, shouldering my fish-pole, started off across-lots. The distance was fully a mile and a half, and before I had passed over a quarter of the distance the bushes, dripping with rain, had completely drenched me. When nearly there the increasing rain became a heavy shower; but I kept on. I reached the pond, but nothing was to be seen of Harry. Not a frog could I find for bait, owing to the incessantly pouring rain, and I knew it would be difficult to find a worm. So, after half an hour of tedious waiting and monotonous soaking, I started for Harry's, my patience entirely worn out. The rain came down in torrents as, at length, I turned in at the gate; and I suppose I looked as forlorn as a drenched rooster, for I heard a girlish giggle as I stepped upon the piazza, but I did not then suspect the truth. "Where's Harry?" I asked of his mother whom I found alone. "Why, you didn't expect to find him at home, did you? He won't be back for a number of days yet." (Another subdued giggle from the next room.) "You're as wet as a drowned rat!" went on the motherly woman. "What on earth started you out in this rain?" "It's that Hattie's work!" I burst out angrily, and told her the whole story. "Dear me!" she exclaimed, holding up her hands, despairingly, "I never did see such a torment as that girl is! I noticed she has seemed very much tickled over something! I'll give her a real scolding!" I darted out the door; and, as I splashed my way disconsolately down to the road, I heard a voice, struggling between repentance and a desire to laugh, call after me: "Forgive me, Charlie, but it was _such_ a joke!" Hattie never meddled with her brother's signals again. For her mother's displeasure and the severe cold that followed my drenching more than balanced the enjoyment she derived from that very practical joke. * * * * *