ONCE UPON A TIME, there were two bluebirds who chose a particularly
nice branch on which to build their nest. But when the nest
was finished and the eggs were laid, a heavy rainstorm came one
evening, and the lady bluebird complained that the roof leaked
and the rain kept running down her neck. She found it a most
uncomfortable thing to have to stay on her nest under such
conditions, but of course she couldn't leave her eggs.
In the morning when he could see better, the father bluebird
examined the roof of leaves, and tried to pull them about to stop
the leaks, but it was of no use. When the next shower came, the
lady bluebird was wet again.
"It's terrible," she said. "I've never been so miserable."
The father bluebird comforted her and promised to do what he
could. And then he flew away. First he went to the club to talk
the matter over and get advice. It was early and many members
of the club weren't there yet, but fortunately the woodchuck had
dropped in for breakfast. He went on eating toast, with his eyes
all the time on his newspaper, while the bluebird told his story,
but just when the bluebird thought he hadn't heard a word, he
looked up and said gruffly:
"Get an umbrella!"
"The very thing!" cried the bluebird in high spirits, and he
started off at once. But in a moment he flew back.
"Where?" he asked.
"In a store," said the woodchuck, with his mouth full of toast.
"The very thing!" repeated the bluebird, and of! he darted again.
But in a moment he was back, looking embarrassed.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Woodchuck," he said. "I hate to interrupt you
so often, but I don't beUeve I quite heard where the store is at which
you buy umbrellas."
The woodchuck frowned and slowly folded his paper. He looked
straight at the bluebird.
"I am leaving something to your initiative," he said, and stamped
away to his own burrow. You see he, himself, didn't know where
the store was.
The bluebird soon brightened and began to ask questions of
other members of the club.
"I went to a store once," said the mouse.
"Did they have any umbrellas?" asked the bluebird.
"No, they had nothing but marbles," said the mouse.
"What a silly store that was!" exclaimed the fox. "Now the store
I went to, when I was young, was very different. They kept motorboat
parts, all kinds of parts, very handy for anyone with a broken
motorboat!"
"But I haven't a motorboat," said the bluebird. "I leave that
kind of thing to the water birds. Hasn't anyone ever gone to an
umbrella shop?"
At last a beetle spoke up in a little, dry, cross voice.
"I've been waiting to see if I was the only fellow in the club that
knew anything," he said, and laughed in a high, self-satisfied way,
"I crawl around, a few feet at a time, but I seem to notice, and
remember what I notice, better than all you fellows with paws
and wings. Mr. Frog's store down by the brook is what you're
looking for, Mr. Bluebird. He sells umbrellas and nothing but
umbrellas."
The bluebird thanked the beetle very gratefully, in spite of his
somewhat disagreeable manner, and off he flew down the bank of
the brook, past the willows, and along the rushes that edged its
course, keeping a sharp eye out for Mr. Frog's store. Sure enough,
he soon found it, with a wattled green roof and a fine green sign
hanging from a bulrush at its door.
The frog sold four kinds of umbrellas: white ones for winter, blue
ones for spring, green ones for summer, and red ones for fall. The
bluebird hesitated for a long time between a blue one and a green
one, but finally chose a green one, as being in style longer.
"How much is it?" he asked the frog, who was waiting on him.
"A dime, a penny, and two jibby-bibbies," said the frog.
"Oh, dear!" cried the bluebird. "I have a dime and a penny, but
I haven't any jibby-bibbies!"
"There aren't any jibby-bibbies," said the frog, wrapping up the
parcel.
The mother bluebird was deUghted with her present and could
scarcely wait for the next rain. Sure enough, when at last it came,
not a drop fell down her neck, and she praised Father Bluebird's
kindness and cleverness to the skies.
But the other birds said that the new bluebird babies were very
proud and lazy. Whenever any of their friends asked them to
come flying with them, they were apt to reply, "No, thank you,
we're going back to our nest—you know, the one under the green
umbrella."
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