e 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.

In a few minutes more Mr. Crow had crossed another mountain. He was
sailing away from home like a kite that has broken its string. And he was
rising so high in the air that he was beginning to grow uneasy. He began
to wonder what he had better do.

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