Once upon a time, there was a little cloud which wished very much to be a big cloud. She was not a very happy little cloud, for no one seemed to care for her, and she felt all alone in the sky.
“Will you play with me?” she asked the big white clouds one day.
But they did not answer her, and floated on, just thinking of themselves and what nice things they could do.
“Never mind,” said the little cloud. “I will play alone,” and she began to make a picture of a big mountain on the blue sky. Then she painted a fine big sun above it, and dropped some bright flowers under it, but the big clouds puffed themselves up.
“No, no,” said the little cloud. “That is my picture! I will paint a storm! Come now, and play with me,” but the big clouds sailed on, still without answering.
“You go away from here, you silly little cloud,” said one; “you cannot keep company with us.”
“And what is more,” said another, “you cannot paint a storm, for you have no rain in you.”
Clara was very lonely, and began to cry:
“Don’t be lonely, don’t be lonely over me,” sobbed she. So she wiped her eyes and brightened up. “I will shine up the world. I can do that,” said Clara, and she shone and shone till everything was golden again.
“Oh, how you make my heart sing!” said the great big meadow.
And the wheat beds bowed down, and the beautiful flowers danced with joy.
Clara was happy, very happy now indeed, for she knew she was giving joy to others.
Then it began to grow dark over her head, and she looked up to see what it could be.
“Well, I never!” cried Clara; “it is the big clouds that are coming after me!” And sure enough, there they came sailing and sweeping toward her.
“Bring us some rain, we want to paint a storm,” they said.
“But I have no rain,” said poor little Clara.
“A storm without rain! Oh, never was there such a thing!” cried the clouds.
But just then a great big ray of sunlight fell down and awoke the rain drops which were sleeping away in Clara’s heart. So they tumbled down out of her and began dancing up and down crying out:
“What is this? What is this? How does everybody want us? Oh, give some to me! Oh, give some to me! I want to go down and cry with joy in the leafy woods!”
And whoop! Down they hurried to tumble into the fearful storm and drench the earth everywhere.
Then Clara began crying.
“Are there no friends for me? Do not everybody want me?” she said, and cried and sobbed till grown folks would have had to cry with her.
But as soon as all the trees and flowers and grasses had drunk enough, ever so many drops hurried back to Clara, for they all wanted, too, to dance and sing the song of joy in her happy heart.
But other drops that had gone down to little children and sweet birds and little rabbits, and those who were most in want, came back to be with Clara also. Clara clapped her hands and danced for joy that so many and such precious friends were left for her.
“Oh, but what is the matter?” said the great dark storm clouds. “Where is all our rain?”
“You drank it all up,” said the other clouds, “Look on the earth.”
“Why, how strange!” said the clouds. “The earth looks like a great big garden! But that could not have been done with our rain!”
“Here is your rain left,” said Clara, and she held out her friends in her heart to the clouds.
“Where did all this beauty come from all of a sudden?” said the grass.
The other clouds looked up, and there was Clara bright and shining.
“Look! look!” said they. “Do you see! it was the lonesome cloud that did it all!”
“Will you tell us a story?” they asked.
“Yes, gladly,” said she, throwing out drops of joy to them. So the storm cloud and the other clouds all sat under Clara’s shady locks and each had such a story to tell.
“When soon the sun comes out again,” said the meadow, “Come here and play with us.”
So everybody was happy now, and Clara bought for all of them at the big birthday market just above them what each wanted most, not forgetting herself.
Then everybody gave her advice, saying:
“Look at those beautiful, big, dark-looking clouds! They are coming down; do not speak to them till they reach the earth!”
Clara stood still, and felt the tingle in her heart that the great sun, her father, always sends his daughter when he has a present for her to give.
So she stood and stood up and down as if it had grown tiresome waiting for them to come. All at once she felt the sun creep up under her in a manner which said:
“I know you are an intelligent child, Clara, who does not need telling what to do when your father hides away under you like this.”
And whoosh! the lid of the tower rolled open and all the people rose up into the creaky tower. “That is the nice present for the people,” said Clara.
Then she cut one of her rain drops open with her golden scissors, that the beam might fly in through the window and onto all.
“Oh, that is our present,” cried the people.
And everybody was happy now.
One hour later two little stars twinkled in the vicinity of Clara’s heart, for it was a mother’s heart and her first dance.
But everybody was happy now.