One morning it rained hard, oh, very hard! Carlo did not go out to the Avenue, for he knew that the children would all stay indoors that day, playing in their nurseries with their house toys. But in the afternoon, after dinner-time, the rain cleared away and the sun came out, hot and bright and beautiful, so that the sidewalks were soon as dry as dry. Then Carlo took his bunch of balloons and trudged to the corner, where he always stood. For he knew that all the nurses and all the babies, tired of being in the house, would soon be hurrying out for an airing in the Park. And of course they would need balloons. Carlo took up his station as usual on the corner where the Avenue stops short before the high gates, and wishes it could go on into the Park. This was where the children looked to find him every day, and he had never yet disappointed them. It was just the hour when the big boys are let out of school. Carlo had forgotten this. He did not like big boys. Suddenly--with a rush and a whoop--a crowd of them came tearing around the corner from the next street. They raced up and down the Avenue, shouting and laughing and full of mischief, for they had been shut up all this rainy day and were glad to be out of doors once more. As they came running back down the Avenue, one of them spied Carlo standing on the corner. “Hallo! Balloons!” shouted the boy, and immediately the noisy crowd rushed upon Carlo and surrounded him. “Give me a red one!” “Hi! Blue’s my color!” “Pass me down a red one, quick, or I’ll cut the whole string!” But they offered him no money in exchange. Carlo held back, trying to defend his balloons from their snatching fingers. Then one boy cried,-- “Ho! Let’s cut the whole string, anyway, and see them go!” And quick as a flash, before Carlo had time to do anything, a sharp penknife had severed the string above the stick, and away went forty balloons, sailing over the trees merrily, glad to be free. The boys gave a yell and danced up and down. But some one cried, “Look out! Here’s a policeman!” and off they scampered in every direction, before Carlo fairly knew what they had done. Yes, there was a policeman, but he had not seen what had happened, and already he was turning the corner. Even if Carlo could catch up with him he could not speak enough English to tell the man his troubles. Besides, not even a policeman could bring back those flying balloons. Poor Carlo! No customers for him this day. He looked down at the bare stick in his hand, and then up to where he could just see some tiny specks on the blue sky, far, far away. The balloons were seeking their little brother who escaped long before. Carlo’s eyes filled with tears, for he was not a very big boy, and this was a dreadful thing which had happened to him. Already the procession of babies was coming down the Avenue, eager to buy Carlo’s balloons. But he had nothing to sell them this afternoon.