Of course, there was one thing he didn't have to worry about--and that
was _falling_. But he did want to go home.
You might suppose that he would have done that long before. But the
trouble was, he didn't want to lose his umbrella. He thought a great
deal of it; and he didn't know where he could get another. (You must
not forget that it was the only umbrella in Pleasant Valley.)
Old Mr. Crow had a hard time deciding just what to do. First, he thought
he would let go of the umbrella. Then he thought he wouldn't. Next, he
thought he would. And after that he thought he wouldn't, again.
Perhaps he would still be changing his mind like that if something hadn't
happened. Anyhow, all at once the umbrella turned inside out. And Mr.
Crow began to fall.
But he didn't fall far. For as soon as he realized what was going on he
let go of his umbrella-handle, spread his wings, and soared down to the
ground.
He made no attempt to find his way home until the next day, but spent the
night in an evergreen grove. And he didn't feel as badly about losing his
umbrella as you would have thought, for he said that ever since he had
owned it he had caught a wetting when it rained.
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