Free Rain Reign by Ann M. Martin Page A

a bucket because we ran out of water. And also some trees fell down but none of them landed on the house.”
    â€œHow are you doing without Rain?”
    I’m not sure how to answer that.
    â€œRose?”
    â€œWell, without Rain I don’t have to fix her meals, and I don’t have to walk her.”
    â€œBut how do you feel?”
    â€œI feel that I would like to find her.”
    â€œIt sounds like you’re a little lonely,” says my uncle.
    Now I understand. “Yes, and worried. And sad. Uncle Weldon, how do you look for a lost dog?”
    â€œI guess we’ll start by putting an ad in the paper. We can put up Lost Dog posters too. But those things may have to wait a few days, although it’s a good sign that the power’s on.”
    Since the power was back, my father and I watched television that morning. We tuned into the news. We found out that most of the roads in Hatford were expected to be cleared by the end of the day. We found out that school might open next Monday.
    â€œNow that Weldon can drive through town,” my father said, “maybe he can buy some supplies and we can start building a temporary bridge over the stream.”
    â€œMaybe he can go to the grocery store,” I added.
    â€œMaybe. Our grocery store is under six feet of mud. So’s the hardware store. He’ll have to drive all the way to Newmark to go shopping.”
    *   *   *
    That night we eat supper in front of the television. I hear a newscaster who’s giving a crime report say, “A complicated crime began simply, under the guise of friendship.”
    I turn to my father. “Guise?” I say. This is exciting. “Guise? How do you spell ‘guise’?”
    â€œHow should I know?”
    I look it up in our old dictionary. It takes a while to find it. Then I run to my room and turn to the G section of my homonyms list. I add: guise/guys.
    Suddenly I feel more hopeful about Rain. I open my school notebook and at the top of a blank page I write: How to Look for a Lost Dog.

 
    25
    How to Look for a Lost Dog
    Knock, knock, knock.
    The next morning I’m awakened by the sound of knocking on our front door. Now that the power is on, I don’t have to go into the kitchen and look at the Atlantic City clock to see what time it is. I can sit up in bed and look at my clock radio. Seven forty-one. Who is knocking on our door at this early non-prime-number time?
    Maybe it’s someone who has found Rain! But then I remember that she wasn’t wearing her collar because of my father, so how would anyone know where she lives?
    There is one other logical answer to the question, which is that our visitor is Uncle Weldon.
    I run into the living room and peer onto the porch.
    My uncle is standing there with a bag, which is probably full of groceries.
    I fling open the door.
    â€œRose!” Uncle Weldon cries. He sets down the bag and swoops me into his arms, which I don’t mind (mined) as much as I thought I might (mite).
    â€œHi, Uncle Weldon,” I say when I’m on my feet again. “How did you get here?”
    â€œI had to park at the bottom of the road, cross the stream where it’s narrower, and walk up the hill to your house.”
    â€œThank you for coming. I have a plan.”
    â€œYou do? What kind of plan?”
    â€œA plan for finding Rain. I’m going to get to work on it right now.”
    â€œDon’t you want to see what I brought?”
    â€œYes.” I peek into the bag. Fruit. Milk. Butter. Lettuce. Carrots.
    â€œDid you go to the grocery store in Newmark?” I ask. Then I remember to say thank you again.
    â€œYou’re welcome.” Uncle Weldon smiles at me. “Yes, I went to Newmark yesterday. It was quite a drive. You wouldn’t believe all the homes that were destroyed. Completely destroyed.”
    My mind is mostly on dog-finding plans, but something occurs to me.