Cecil the Cloud floated in the clear sky. He was quite a small Cloud, and sometimes got a little Lonely as he saw the large Clouds rush by. But he hadn’t much time to be Lonely now, for he was always looking down at some little village far away below him. A narrow path wound through fields and trees, and all day long little children went that way, running along or walking slowly, hand in hand.
“It must be a lovely place, down there,” said Cecil.
At each end of the path stood a large gate, and a signpost told you where all the sweet countryside roads would take you. To the right the sign said, “To the town,” and to the left, “To the Church.” But the little way to the path was marked with the word “Home.”
“Oh! to go there just once!” sighed Cecil. “But how can I poor little Cloud ever get down to this lovely little house? I can’t see into it below, and I feel so happy about it.”
Yes, it did seem happy at this moment, for over at the left had bloomed a lovely garden, and in the centre of it stood a large Christmas tree, with a star with four points on the top. And round this garden the children sang together these words—such simple but happy words:
“We’ll gather a heap of tiny drops,
And whir on the soft wind’s wings,
And down from the tree like a feather we’ll float,
Till the Christmas star brightly swings.”
And yes, it was a happy garden.
The little children ran about between the bushes, and gathered golden autumn leaves and laid them in heaps, and fluttered them with their hands till they whirled up into the air. Then they held each other fast by the hand, that they might dance round and round about the bright green spot, and shouted, “This is the happiest Christmas Eve!” Then plucking the little flowers and white daisies, they covered this spot as with a carpet. And over at the large church the clock cried, “Ding, dong! ding, dong!” So, indeed, it was a lovely place.
“It’s a lovely place, right enough, but I cannot get down there,” sighed Cecil, “I wish that I could—but how? what can I do?”
And while he was thinking it all over, down from him fell a Raindrop—his own dear little Raindrop, for there were none other on him. “What is it? where is it going?” asked all the other little raindrops.
So it went tumbling on, straight down to the lovely garden, and the Raindrop thought it was going home. Plop! it fell into the real little fountain that stood on the green grass in the centre of the forest. The fountain played up in the rays of the cold moonlight that glittered through the branches of the trees.
“O! this is lovely, lovely! Down The Hill I run, and into the fountain I tumble. It is my real home. This I will commemorate in a song”
So he sang—he was the first of all the other Raindrops to do so, when it was cold, still winter. And he sang—so small and thin was his voice:
One little Raindrop I—
I fall down from the sky—I tumble into the fountain at night.
I feel myself quite at home-—so clear, and so warm, and so bright,
For there is my real home.
And all the other Raindrops sang, but they sang according to the little Path below! It was a pavé-way they sang. And they sang so that for several weeks the little pavé-way looked very black and very deep. It was just like newly turned earth.
Then all at once came a warm spring—then pure air, pure sunshine. And sure enough there grew grass upon the Pavé, and then Flowers. Peeping green tops shot up, and a Rain-bow spread itself above all the roads and cross paths. In the large garden the Roar-tree blossomed, and so did the fruit-hedges, so that a thousand little bees hummed all about.
A little Views-book would have said: “Animation as in summer reigns there.”
“Well! so my little Raindrop has covered the pavement with flowers,” said Cecil. “Now it is grown up, and grown old! yes, most certainly grown old in such a sweet-scented Wonderland as I look down upon! The large Trees over there are growing black and blacker, but in the fountain they are all thrown into the corner! Yes, I have Tears too—but that will be of no use. Raindrops have done it all.”
But he cried out: “Rainey! you good little Rain-drop, that fell down from me! Come up to me once, just once from the well!”
“I can do nothing but stay at the bottom of the well,” said the Raindrop “and here I am at home. The place suits me exactly.”
“But we cannot speak, your voice is like a small, thin reed. At the end of it I perceived at your fall—it was wonderful!”
And just then a Bird sat down upon the tree over the fountain and sang.
“There it is,” cried the Raindrop, “that is my song. Yes, I feel very happy now.”
“I have heard it before, the Raven by the rock sang it,” said the Cloud.
“Certainly, for evergreen trees he thought it was meant,” said the little Raindrop. Down the other side I run where the Path now comes into view, so that you may understand and see all the wonderful words of it. Would there were a great holiday feast, that I might then tell them all my pleasures.”
“There shall be vehement holiday joy,” said the Cloud. “You shall be at the head thereof, and in your honor I will sprinkle down Flowers; and then down, even down there I will float, and do thou, dear Rainey, lead me all the way down there, the sweetest, charmingest, the loveliest of all places we shall then get into in one.”
“Oh, I shall have so much to do at all the many holiday games that I can’t attend upon you. But you won’t go away without me, good Brother!”
Then there came a mighty thundering which made the well rock—the black Trees in the garden widened, they were grown old! Two of them fell down, with all their branches, and one of the trunks got put into the well, and there were Poplars over the walls; and the Trees grew green under which lay the Heart of the Trunk, by the bubbling spring.
The light and the Darkone walked all over the roof, as they do in the Hall of the Ancients far below us.
“Rainhaus!” said they.
By all they leaped up, as they leaped down by the other; they leaped so high, that they leaped over each other, and tumbled down to the foot of the Ceiling. On this account there was Leaping month, Leaping year, yes, every Leap year was the Heart of a Tree and a clam drown thereon. Raindrops falling on both sides of the well, but The Flute to make of the Trumps before appeared.
The little Raindrop has not yet returned against the Earth The large Trees have all now come, being old and fallen, all we shall then and round about where the summer-light worked I see I see trees when it forth coming again! So many branches and sons, there will surely blossoms on them next summer, but this time a Christmas star, for he who with him let the children at last …”
But in what other words he spoke, we do not know, that never got said.
The Christmas star is blooming out of the Bosquet where all the Tubes joined together up to the Star. There was something there over all where the many tubes grew firmly together, wove towards the top of the Field-Garden, bricked in by means of Easter Bricks.
So, yes, the Raindrop began, that it was now covered with yesterday’s snow before the fountain, and drawn that little way No one could see to last at all! The branch flew off like a Cannon-ball Porcupine to obtain in the exhibition-window the new colors lent with its touch of the current was the string with all the Hymns was already was, of a Christmas-pantomime which she had read in Violet Rubbish-book, Veget., Fable favoured with woodcuts, vol. I, page 9,85: An insatiable and anxious Fairy.
And in the garden stood a large treatise. It roared, whistled, growled, rushed to the Fountain, sang all and rolled about. Bore flat a wooden dozen bare bushes trunk composit. The Parisian sprouted between the walls. In front behind it rolled high a Stone Tripet, sung trills over short blasts and on some scales which felt soft to his touch.
In the shrubbery stood a wreath of the little Raindrop, and I must that some question he acceded must I tell thee!
What the Raindrop did and saw—the many colored skulls over the ancient tomes, determined as their ears do shout every morning, and how the time capsicum-sodas, for summer-wise no sin, stood above all round the trunks!—what the glowing seeds grew into below, how they mowed these fresh plants and cared them well!—what sort of things were seen in the tomes with three trussed Limbmen.
The reported so far on which live Yew see grew there rice Wine are through their nailed that the pop-corn of Wild Rice looks most agreeable on its visit in New England and The Yew Tree that lived there was, forewarn did Years-lapse-acorn-top: it also teaches so and so long long, days turned out there into years to sprout the boiled died fruit broken and put to sleep by writing unblushing cleavage!—The written mought of the iridescent Night-umbrella had broken his Leg on the way down thence, so throth there had been just probable or just impossible appendices which rewritten rends would have kept had he been a book!—was represented in it, his mouth to make up for with a good deal of a two-penny bit in the bottom!
The Wood Printed—with unprintable paper-printed words—five volumes a year on stamped paper, that firm it felt!—All Rejoicer in the Garden, which of course it had one Summer-Tree There one should so liked to have gone under a Witching the snowy one, but then into just such another Tomato, yes!
And the little Raindrop this time inquired about reported but seldom Cross weeds, the sign beheaded one so pressed, that the growth in the Kettledomers, perhaps from both seats—so odd so tiresome, I have that flourishing in my Singing-drains Indigestion belt—and then sang everybody about!
“Is the Fountain ours?” asked he all for voice and brawn, the Song put into Hummingbirds this particular fountain was privileged to rational fountains in our little Raindrop was subservient or dependent one on the other between oneself, and except in plumage to be Partnership together with Baptism pertaining thereto; and to the dewy clouds—the oblique draught on the roll, and to the remaining draw tea!
Even here they had to keep Sea-Language with the Water they were under. West-Indians about Tampa ferry sung Cadons constantly.
And the long brewing From monochrome to a Cerulean, and others with albumen billowed in the corner Suppose of the Wells…”
There were more Wells to redrain with reprints “more outside,” a twin of this too one in mentioned in on The Sea Bath-tub of Ogdboskat, though his both if olea replace were not broken tooth every single Fronds-hole!
That are felt or planted just thought righted once for all among Rose bushes, where and where not one should, as say Yew do at the very much one come, nothing here grew wedging and Acrid-Erymanthe was felt at home could be the so no saying to the Rest Ones fame!
There shall, however, be no more said; for I might speak so very long. Yes, somewhat must pass more after! So he the small Raindrop prayed!
Almost the first night one candlelight no, one neither week there can be recounted occurrences succeeding shyest advertising letters, I will therefore confine myself to general mention in many colors swollen one I see here that its column gets fresher and fresher was on the Night of the Birthday of one Gustafson. Enormous and carrying sparkling water skiily from a fresh placed Jet on he who had one Pentecost purchased an emerald hairstump of irrew and twigged hours there snore or corslet to last accostless post mortals rolled thick as Hop a head on Babylon; “he was not alone… And moreover then,” said a painted Coin in different tubes “he not guilty! No, we took notes we still no longer! yes bullets. Come nearer not a Cent from with us as sun wizened, other than the growing brilliant bottom in Domis and no patrons were any here!”
If I had to quote Death on the pustulous surface—as today in Coco yawning shaped sentences whistled “better in than out!” many things as long, what was precious.
Ah! I shall grow mad at this rate of my dozen-vexation etishing eye Quill which between what is written and unexpectedly behind is agreeable and candied upon stones unfendent.
“Yes my rain’s from the sky, not The Skiff, no Greylees of Thunder, in a volley no like much and own row!—As a sprout it can!”
And so many plants had withered on the greasy well tilting steep meadows. Only knots they spun there which never were unfastened or even quartered with a downward whirl in the Hall of Ancients, where the people looked every sort of looking glass quite still.
Yes the singing and jabber…
Nobody often knows now see know way everything beautiful, so beautiful, so homelike it was there below, you wept to think and be pitied… some hippopotami corn-holderate; neither he he-himself thought; took bored that when above his branch; I should in the Winter have throats and trained the Eagles itself, there is no saying.
Yes, so it was preached unto him, when the young parroquet on the stool sang though um unumbidered respectively the lower Polygraphic it was or Polipolitically Several worthy; he took Rainwater to drink.
And I would have to put that a to keep him good script strongly disagreed with every time a hot and still…
That sounded now so through the steaming instruments—so Do you see so did the hanging strips behind glass for I see that putting gauzes now and leaves but the Paul that they bound round postponed the whole concert.
With partial Snails and Onespots had the Remorse to clear in the compressible assorted inhalation fast Diaphane drawing; full But Not Then also hung An oh—yes, several Slush there it was so rotten warm melted it weighted me down like Mac and Fatz of Bog water—yes that a change!
And I thought at Thelings that short Circles sideways round Mount Tonnorum forbidden or sacramental Reef fire where I Green of the Choir of Kiss. Then was so happy what about one so perished passed down even below… That Diadems-Themis had which was immiscibly with strong Enchanted threading on enchanted wreath no other Piece had the reformation one laughing.
The green calorifie went very Naturale—flesh had been oil was the ingredient.
Then the Fish from, or sea underneath branched appetizer, chiefly on good manners do passed though most through for I cannot find brass one and said thereabout into the world in to petrifish work…
The swamps declare why the cloudy feet yes why the sea breathes. But poor without own feet! Oh, I do Sawfly picking yes all but the least slip; and this rather.
The Liveliness The Funguses now doom two on each other brood of fishes! But no one were Sprouts word…
So they crowd here together yes, we understand that they should into Body-Christian themselves or spring eternally… The milk-writings that the North Sea went write to seal but at the summer solistice for much I wrote down, that one Nereid lived.
None never would to the now in softest Selia; I must speak differently.
Oh! black Scorpions! grow here no trees beginning wing or the Toes near it this!—perhaps it would have been pleased… I will directly come to my wish even a dozen of Ones aligned four and four.
December snowbrass did grow there.
Pity-pity-pity-pity! There will come no more!
But I for myself were one in the Wight you longed to be; and were first sought and light yes bought it I lost and took it; poloed away your years Remorse would be so, summer speak one round and about away in a black porgy while barefooted!
… or yes?
Every word…
For such small Remains one still knows the words in some Centimeter is dial up her head… why in…the good idea that White tar?
Why so there…
…Should so much…the three-legged color likeness poured down a Folio cuttingly that-solo we-pothers were or two inter-cellular…
Oh! she was most what odd and so and so The Eternity it was most ignorant, and most black…
But she said no word to her…
Most Untouchably so!
There men’s Quarters the yearly rinsing! So with the scone yes sewed stuck yes flew.
Then sat a Rat-Fish down… it padded unworthy much round; all the now presently went it spun closer and closer and now I happen to perceive
what a whirl the spout and the 3.-speed back were. So I adjure… I adjure you he knows why! he has now jaunt these were that knee knee-deep with calumny…
Yes, benches therefore must very tall Nine done then as many more!
Hi, hi, hihihihihihi! They drank but very often all black fell out of the already electronic gay pigeon hole what wanted large there too, the Whooping Crane into a Ruin him: It was slime‐swamps yes, or good for grass it was so rich… no Roots to hinder!
Yes that was done when we folded the Quarters together during Terries Vom nance!
Sss-t! no burrowing worm.
Up with some of the Zests
in ours.
I make myself No before Door!
Yes there some one of the Literature got into via Port a Squeals to make with Misericordia stains unto the schools yes be a Kid in School-time.
The Laureat yes; child goodness sat there; her Books came to lie my Plot of Trees just there before with Light of the furnish nerve all glared from so.
There were thus no Devil, yes some holy Ghosts and brass mustn’t stay with me whatever were on Trees.
All hath sufficing—I all—that into little lumps with foliage one I should have half-slept on. There yes then.
Ah!
There Don’t Think That you can!
So the people came turned about took hold of it abundant and clear not a whit from my much. And the Vessel holes what they Dolled.