One of us—I forget which one now, but I rather think it was myself—made a few feeble attempts during the course of the morning to work up the old gipsy foolishness about being children of Nature and enjoying the wet; but it did not go down well at all. That— “I care not for the rain, not I!” was so painfully evident, as expressing the sentiments of each of us, that to sing it seemed unnecessary.
