At that, everybody except Mr. Crow began to laugh,
too. But Mr. Crow coughed; and his voice was
hoarser than, ever as he said to Christopher Crane:
“I’m wet as I can be. And I’ve
caught a terrible cold. You’re a water-bird;
and you don’t mind a wetting. But for one
of my age it’s very dangerous.”
Then he started homeward. Though it was still
raining, he tucked his umbrella under his wing, for
he was afraid those rude fellows would crowd under
it again.
And before he had reached his house Mr. Crow had made
up his mind about something.
MR. CROW’S PLAN
Yes! Old Mr. Crow had made up his mind about
something. After Jasper Jay and Frisky Squirrel
and Fatty Coon had come and crouched under his umbrella,
and Christopher Crane had perched himself on top of
it, and Mr. Crow had fallen off the fence, the old
gentleman decided that he would take no more chances.
The next time it rained he knew exactly what he was
going to do.
He said nothing to anyone about his plan. It
was a good one—Mr. Crow was sure of that.
And he could hardly wait for the next shower, he was
so eager to give his scheme a trial. He hoped
that there would be a big storm—not merely
a quick shower, which would be over before he had had
time to enjoy it.
At last the storm came. And for once Mr. Crow
was not disappointed. It was the sort of storm
that is worth waiting for. The wind had blown
hard all day. And the sky had grown almost as
black as night. And old Mr. Crow was watching
in his house, with his umbrella grasped tight in his
hands, waiting for the rain.
When the rain began, it did not fall in a gentle patter.
It came with a rush and a roar, driven in white sheets
before a mighty wind.
“This is great!” Mr. Crow cried aloud,
as he stepped upon a limb outside his house and spread
his umbrella.
Now, this is what he had decided to do: He had
determined that the very next time it rained he would
take his umbrella and fly up into the sky, where he
would not be annoyed by anybody coming along to share
his shelter with him.
For a moment Mr. Crow balanced himself on the limb.
And the next moment, he had jumped. Afterward,
he could never remember exactly how it all happened.
Everything seemed like a bad dream to old Mr. Crow—such
as he sometimes had after eating too heartily of corn.
He felt himself swept up into the sky faster than
he had flown for years. He was pitched and tossed
about; and in no time at all he was drenched with
water—for the cold rain pelted him as much
as it pleased. He could only cling to the handle
of his umbrella. And so he sailed away, swaying
this way and that as the wind caught him, and always
climbing higher and higher into the sky.
He passed the top of Blue Mountain almost before he
knew it. Looking down, he could see Mrs. Eagle
on her nest; and she seemed to be in a flutter of
excitement, too. She was frightened; and it was
no wonder. For she thought the umbrella was a
monstrous bird, coming to snatch her children away
from her.
