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A short story by Joel Chandler Harris |
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Mr. Rabbit As A Rain-Maker |
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Title: Mr. Rabbit As A Rain-Maker Author: Joel Chandler Harris [More Titles by Harris] "I hope it won't rain," said Sweetest Susan, "for then the spring would fill up so we couldn't get out, and we should get wet down here." "Oh, no," replied Mr. Thimblefinger, "the water is never wet down here. It is a little damp, that's all." "Well, that's enough, I'm sure," remarked Mr. Rabbit. "It's enough to give me the wheezes when I first get up in the morning, and it's not at all comfortable, I can tell you." "There is one funny thing about springs," said Mrs. Meadows, "no matter how much it rains, they never get any fuller. They may run a little freer, but they never get any fuller. Speaking of rains," she continued, turning to Mr. Rabbit and laughing, "don't you remember the time you set yourself up as a rain-maker?" Mr. Rabbit chuckled so that he bent nearly double. "I don't remember that," sighed Mr. Thimblefinger. "You two have more jokes between you than you can shake a stick at. That comes of me being small and puny. Tell us about it, please." Mr. Rabbit fingered his pipe--a way he had when he put on his thinking-cap, as Mrs. Meadows expressed it--and presently said:-- "It's not such a joke after all, but I'll let you judge for yourself. Once upon a time, when all of us lived next door, on the other side of the spring, there was a tremendous drouth. I had been living a long time, but never before had seen such a long dry spell. Everybody was farming except myself, and even I had planted a small garden. "Well, there was a big rain about planting-time, but after that came the drouth, and the hot weather with it. One month, six weeks, two months, ten weeks--and still no sign of rain. The cotton was all shriveled up, and the corn looked as if it would catch a-fire, it was so dry; even the cow-peas turned yellow. Everything was parched. The creeks ran dry, and the rivers got so low the mills had to stop. I remember that when Brother Bear tried to carry me across the ferry his flatboat ran aground in the middle of the river, and the water was so low we found we could wade out. "The drouth got so bad that everybody was complaining--everybody except me. Brother Wolf and Brother Bear would come and sit on my front porch and do nothing but complain; but I said nothing. I simply smoked my pipe and shook my head, and said nothing. They noticed this, after so long a time, and one day, while they were sitting there complaining and declaring that they were ruined, I went in to get a drink of water. I came back gently and heard them asking each other how it was that I didn't join in their complaints. When I came out, Brother Wolf says, says he: 'Brother Rabbit, how are your craps?' I remember he said 'craps.' "'Well,' says I, 'my craps are middling good. They might be better, and they might be worse, but I have no cause to grumble.' "They looked at each other, and then Brother Bear asked if I had had any rain at my house. 'None,' says I, 'to brag about--a drizzle here and a drizzle there, but nothing to boast of.' "They looked at each other in great surprise, and then Brother Wolf spoke up. 'Brother Rabbit,' says he, 'how can you get a drizzle and the rest of us not a drop?' "'Well,' says I, 'some folks that know me call me the rain-maker. They may be right. They may be wrong. I'm not going to squabble about it. You can call me what you please. I shall not dispute with you.' "Presently they went away, but it wasn't long before they came back, bringing with them all the neighbors for miles around. They gathered in the porch and in the yard and outside the gate, and begged me, if I was a rain-maker, to make it rain there and then to save their crops. They begged me and begged me, but I sat cross-legged and smoked my pipe--this same pipe you see here. Brother Fox, who had done me many a mean trick (though he was always well paid for it), got on his knees and begged me to make it rain for them. "Finally I told them that I'd make it rain for the whole settlement on two conditions. The first condition was that every one was to pay toll." "Toll is the pay the miller takes out at the mill," remarked Buster John. "Yes," replied Mr. Rabbit, "you take your turn of meal to the mill and the miller takes his payment out of the meal. Well, I told them they'd have to pay toll. They agreed to that, and then asked what else they'd have to do, but I said we'd attend to one thing at a time. First let the toll be paid. "They went off, and in due time they came back. Some brought corn and some brought meal; some brought wheat and some brought flour; some brought milk and some brought butter; some brought honey in the clean, and some brought honey in the comb; some brought one thing and some brought another, but they all brought something. "Then they gathered around and asked what else they had to do. 'Well,' says I, 'you certainly act as if you wanted rain--all of you--there's no disputing that. You have paid the toll according to agreement. You have surely earned the rain, and now there's nothing for me to do but to find out how much rain you want.' "With that they all began to talk at once, especially Brother Bear, who lived in the upland district, where the drouth had been the worst, but I put an end to that at once. "'Hold on there!' says I, 'just wait! Don't get into any dispute around here. You are on my grounds and at my house. Let's have no squabbling. I'm not feeling so mighty well, anyhow, and the least fuss will be enough to upset me. But the world is wide. Just go on yonder hill and fix up the whole matter to suit yourselves. Just come to some agreement as to how much rain you want, and as soon as you agree send me word, and then go home and hoist your parasols, for there'll surely be a sprinkle.' "Well," Mr. Rabbit continued, "this was such a sensible plan that they couldn't help but agree to it, and presently they all went to the hill and began to talk the matter over, while I went into the house. "This was in the morning. Well, dinner-time came, but still no word had come from the convention on the hill. I went out into the porch, flung my red handkerchief over my face to keep the flies off, and took my afternoon nap, but still no word came from the hill. Then I fell to laughing, and laughed until I nearly choked myself." "But what were you laughing at?" Buster John inquired, with a serious air. Mr. Rabbit paused, looked at the youngster solemnly, and said, "Well, I'll tell you. I didn't laugh because anybody had hurt my feelings. I just laughed at circumstances. I sat and waited until the afternoon was half gone, and then slipped up the hill to see what was to be seen and hear what was to be heard. Everything was very quiet up there. Those who had gone up there to decide what sort of rain they wanted were sitting; around under the pine-trees, looking very sour and saying nothing. The ground was torn up a little in spots, and I thought I could see scattered around little patches of hair and little pieces of hide. I judged from that that the arguments they had used were very serious. I watched them from behind the bushes a little while, and then Brother Bear walked out into the open and declared that any one who didn't want the rain to be a trash-mover was anything but a nice fellow. At this Brother Coon, who lived in the low grounds, remarked that anybody who wanted anything more than a drizzle was not well raised at all. "Then I soon found out what the trouble was. Brother Bear, living on the uplands, wanted a big rain; Brother Coon, who lived in the low grounds, wanted a little rain; Brother Fox wanted a tolerably heavy shower; and Brother Mink just wanted a cloudy night to coax the frogs out. Some wanted a freshet, some wanted a drizzle, and some wanted a fog. "They wouldn't agree because they couldn't agree," continued Brother Rabbit, "and finally they slunk off to their homes one at a time. So I didn't have to make any rain at all." "But you couldn't have made it rain," said Sweetest Susan placidly. "I didn't say I could," replied Mr. Rabbit. "I told them I would make the rain if they would agree among themselves." "But you took what they brought you?" suggested Sweetest Susan in a tone that was intended for a rebuke. "Well," Mr. Rabbit answered, "you know what the old saying is--'Fools have to pay for their folly.' They might as well have paid me as to pay somebody else. That's the way I looked at it in those days. I don't know how I'd look at it now, because I'm not so nimble footed as I used to be, nor so full of mischief." "If there had been many more such fools in your neighborhood," remarked Mr. Thimblefinger, "you could have set up a grocery-store." There was a little pause, and then Mrs. Meadows, looking around, exclaimed:-- "Just look yonder, will you?" Chickamy Crany Crow had two sticks, and with these she was playing on an imaginary fiddle. Tickle-My-Toes had the broom, and this, he pretended, was a banjo. The two queer-looking creatures wagged their heads from side to side and patted the ground with their feet, just as though they were making sure-enough music, and presently Tickle-My-Toes sang this song to a very lively tune:-- I'll up and I'll grin if you tickle my chin, Oh, grin with your chinnery in, I'll grin and I'll sneeze, I'll cry and I'll squeal, Oh, grin with your innery chin, I'll grin, _tee-hee!_ and I'll cry, _boo-hoo!_ Buster John, Sweetest Susan, and Drusilla laughed so heartily at this that Chickamy Crany Crow and Tickle-My-Toes didn't wait to repeat the chorus of the song, but ran away, pretending to be very much frightened. This made the children laugh still more, and for the first time they felt thoroughly at home in Mr. Thimblefinger's queer country. [The end] GO TO TOP OF SCREEN |