Once upon a time in the sky above a small village, there was a cloud named Cumulus. He was a lovely white cloud that was very bright by day and stood still like a mountain or a fort built of snow. But Cumulus did not know how to be happy. He wanted to make friends among the birds in the sky; but all the little birds that flew about in the warm sunshine would never come quite near to him. The big birds called the crows sometimes sat and rested a while upon his edge, but they were his own colour and did not tell him anything.
The sun kept on shining brightly down, day after day; and at last Cumulus made up his mind to speak to him. He said: “Good morning, Mr. Sun. Will you not shine upon me a little, and let me have some warmth on my back? You knew me when I was little more than mist and a handful of dew.”
“Oh, I remember you very well,” said the sun; “but I cannot shine on you yet a while.” Cumulus knew this quite well; so he said nothing further, but passed on, with a heavy heart, to the East and pointed his face towards the chilly little village that lay below and looked up towards other clouds. But either his face was too cold for them, or they were too remote, for none paid him any attention. All his companions on the way were grey and gloomy spirits, and Cumulus could see that they were weeping and wailing.
“Why do you cry all the time, my friends?” said Cumulus. But they only replied: “Have you not heard of the poor people who live down there in the village? They are all sad and ill today because it is all so grey and wet and cold.”
Meanwhile the sun was going down, and all the birds of the air came out of their sleeping-places. All the light passed away from Cumulus, and the sun then said:
“Now, Cumulus, you can go, if you like,”
and away he travelled, brightening with hope as he felt that he might be able to lend a little aid to the merry birds and noisy people below.
But when he arrived he was driven away by a rainstorm. Everything grew grey around him; the birds went away and sat under roofs and in the shaded trees; and they said:
“It is too dark; let us go to bed.”
But the big clouds were still weeping and howling, and quite dark enough to leave no other colour in the air.
At last the sun put out his first beam into the air, saying:
“It will be better now, my friends,”
and the last grey cloud vanished away. When the sun turned again to the west he saw how lovely Cumulus looked, standing right in the middle of the blue sky,
with his own shadow in the village below. All the birds came twittering back again, and passed and went in and out between the lovely white arms of Cumulus: he had all the world under him, passing and beating in the warm evening air, a world rejoicing that it was no longer rainy.
So the cloud had a happy frame of mind once more, and all the world danced in the evening. The sun also said:
“Thank you for to-day’s work, dear Cumulus; it has been very good of you.”
And so good-natured Cumulus was never lonely again.