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.
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