Rainy Sunday
It was Sunday. I never get up early Sundays. I
sometimes stay in bed until lunchtime. Last Sunday I got up very late. I looked
out of the window, it was dark outside. “What a day!” I thought. “It is raining
again.” Just then the telephone rang. It was my aunt Lucy. “I’ll be at the
station. I’ll come to see you, “But I am still having breakfast,” I said. “What
are you doing?” she asked. “I am having breakfast,” I repeated. “Dear me!” she
said. “You always get up so late? It is one o’clock!”