Once upon a time, in a lovely blue sky, there was a little cloud named Puffy. He liked his name a lot, because it made him feel important. You see, he wasn’t like all the other clouds who floated around, having fun and changing shapes. Puffy was a little different; he just seemed to wander about, not knowing where he was going or what he should do. And you know what? He felt a bit lonely too.
All around him, the other clouds played games. They made pictures of funny animals, old ships, and even bright flowers. But Puffy didn’t know what to make. He felt so lost. “What is my purpose?” he often thought to himself. “Why was I made?” So each day, as the morning came, all the other clouds laughed and changed shapes, while little Puffy sighed and just floated along, feeling as blue as the sky.
One bright day, a breeze came singing by. “Oh, little cloud!” she cried, “Come and have a nice ride on my soft, white wings. I will blow you all over the sky.” “I would like to go very much, but I am afraid I might get lost,” said little Puffy. “Oh, no, indeed! You will come back soon to tell the other clouds where you have been!” said the kind little breeze; and off they went.
Around they rode, up and down, here and there, over the green fields, the dark woods, and shining rivers, until they came to a little place that looked like a bright carpet all made of flowers. Here the sunbeams played, and the birds sang sweetly. And oh, such lovely trees as there were, with bending branches and talking leaves! Every little flower had a story to tell. And down at the edge of this pretty place stood a tiny brook, its soft little hand washing the feet of a lovely child. She looked up into the blue sky and saw little Puffy, as he rode past on the wings of the breeze. “Oh, what a lovely little cloud!” she cried. “Will it not soon come down and give us a nice little shower, and a few drops of rain for our pretty flowers? All day long it has been so hot. I think a cool drink would do them so much good!”
“It seems to me,” said a large, heavy cloud at this, coming up and resting just over the little brook, “that I give you enough rain on the garden. But then you could not expect me to do too much.” And that was quite right, you know.
“That is why I could not change into anything strange or funny,” said little Puffy, as he sat up in the sky and thought. “I suppose I am not of much use here. Why, the children even think I am a nice, little rain cloud! Perhaps I am just really that, and nothing else. I will try.” So he waited as patiently as he could till the sun went down and the gentle breezes grew damp and chill. It was now late in the night, and little Puffy felt sure it was time for him to do something; so down he went to try.
And what happened? Down came his little drops of rain, gentle and sweet, dancing and leaping as they fell on the thirsty flowers and grasses; indeed, showering down around poor tired old Mother Earth, so hot and so thirsty that she drank and drank and drank. The happy children smiled as they jumped about and stretched out their hands to catch the cool water; and as for Candy the brook, she laughed for joy, as dropping her brushes she danced about without stopping. The birds slept right on, without knowing of the rain; but just before they turned in for the night, they drank and drank, and felt quite refreshed. As for the great heavy cloud that belonged all to himself, why, he fell glad and tired, as you may suppose.
And then all the little clouds that had been wandering about playing in the golden sunbeams the whole long day began to wonder where it could be. “I wonder where our little friend Puffy has gone,” said one. “Did you see him anywhere this evening?” said another. “I did not,” they answered, all in a breath. And when the first smile of the early morning came, little Puffy sat up at rest and smiled too, as he saw the whole little flock of joyful clouds. They soon walked to him, shaking their soft white wings, and then they danced about him, laughing and asking, “Where have you been, hidden away the whole long night?” And they were so glad to see him again.
Then little Puffy told them all that he had done. And after many times telling it over and over again, how the children felt when the rain came shewing them so much love, how happy Mother Earth was, how Candy the brook laughed with joy, and how the flowers had drunk and slept and each afterwards told its story to the other, he ended by saying, “And now I feel sure why I was made. I am a little rain cloud, and that is all.”
“Well, perhaps that is all,” said one of the clouds; “but it is a great deal. And if we should not have a great many little rain clouds flitting about the world, that never could be happy or sad over it, what would become of all the flowers we love? Each rain drop helps a little flower to bloom in bright-colored beauty somewhere, that we can hardly see when it lifts itself up as happy and glad as we are.”
“That is true,” said little Puffy, “and a great idea, this whole story of mine, seems to be. But then you know that each one of us little clouds helps to pull our burden from the sunbeams, and we change and we change, from round to square, from one shape to another again. And that is not pleasant. But I never know how I am made, how to play, and never seem to quite belong here. So I think I will go aboard my little breeze again today, and find out what she thinks of my troubles.”
So he went, as he decided. But when he came back the next day, he saw all the children laughing and jumping and shouting, “Oh, who is this coming? Who is this coming?” and they were so full of wonder and delight they ran about the garden, putting the daisies, the violets, and sweet clover out of danger, shouting and laughing, and not stopping to think for one moment why they were doing this.
On their way, their joyous voices and happy hearts dashed by him and quenched his bright light; and then the sun who had been walking about all day, so to speak, by himself, singing his old song of “I shine,” as he went hid behind a big cloud and went to sleep, and the first stars widened their eyes and looked around on the dancing humor of all the little soft clouds about the place. And near him they fell over each other and laughed, and looked sulky and jolly, too. One morning he asked one of them to give him some idea of his thoughts and hopes for each day. Pointer smiling, he whispered, as quick as possible to him:-
“I change, and I change, and I change each day; through all my bright and happy dreams I float about the world unseen; I watch the sunny side of life shine back at me, and I hear the glad voices of the children say, every day, so bright and free, these happy words, everyone to me, of jolly dance and lovely thought go,”
“Puffy, the Cloud, you are why we are so glad, when we see and play about. You are we do like, when we happy do the same.”
So little Puffy listened to the merry clouds, and smiled just the same, and after this, he was never sad again, but did his best, as he was made; and if one should ask you why he was put on earth, I hope you can tell them.