THE RACKETY RAIN

Press, Volume LXX, Issue 21281, 28 September 1934, Page 8 (Supplement)

THE RACKETY RAIN

(By Ainiit K. Townshend) It had rained for so long and so long. And when Pete looked out of the window he could scarcely pre his garden for the fat, falling raindrops; when he tried to talk to his dog lie could not hear his own voice for the rackety rain rumbling on the roof. Every day he thought it would stop and every day it said quite clearly that it wouldn't. Sadly he thought of his rose bush in flower, of the happy times he used to spend rambling out-of-doors. Ah, yes, before but now. He looked up on the wall and saw an old picture which had written at the bottom something about "where 1 here's a will there's a way." "Sound's all right," he thought, '"but a fat. lot of use to me." Near his home was a thick forest. So he set, off in the wet to sec the wise witch who lived aniong the trees. Her house was In a black tree trunk, she always "wore a tall hat and her eyes were «"lark and hard as beetles' backs. 'No one had ever been inside, for Jliey could never find the door. Pete knocked first of all with J) is knuckles, but as nobody answered and his skin was almost coming off he kicked with his boot, ffc tried different places round the tree trunk, hoping that one of them must be the door. At 2ast she heard. "Waii, wah. wah," loudly <worse than the fiercest dog) Rounded inside the tree. High above Pete's head a door clacked open and the witch's head and shoulders leaned out. She saw Pete and barked »gain. "Horrid little boy! Why do J'ou knock mi my pantry shelves? Are you hungry? I "No, thank you. I'm not hungry and 1 can't reach your . door."

' j Pete was shaking so much he I thought it must be the ground | quaking. Indeed, he rather wished he hadn't come, i "Well," she grunted. "Please, wise witch"—might as well tell her now that she had been disturbed, he thought—"could you tell me how to get t.o the land of Rain?" "H'm, is that all?" she exclaimed. "H'm, easily enough told. Take the Moss path until you come to the rock that looks over the river. Climb on top and you will find a ladder—the longest in the world. See!" "Oh, wisest of witches," said Pete with delight. Then of a sudden her face darkened, and the tree made groany noises. "I wish I hadn't told him," she was thinking. "He wants to stop the rain and the great forest wants all it can get." Too late. Already Pete had scampered ofT like a young pony. "I'll make it difficult for him," and she would have gnashed her teeth, but there were only three left. Pete was well on his way down the Moss track, when of a sudden he seemed unable to go any farther—everything went wrong. The whole forest had heard of him by now, so that branches thrust themselves in his way, sticks tripped him up, stones kicked his toes, and several times he tripped on nothing. Falling down for the tenth time with his nose in the dirt he saw about a foot ahead a quaint bird. Only a sparrow, but such wings it had; enormous ones nearly as large as Pete's garden plot. In a flash he remembered it must be the sparrow with big-as-table-cloth-wings. Clearly it was in trouble, so Pete examined for a moment or two the beautiful wings and found that several long feathers were coming out. As best he could Pete stuck them in again—immediately the bird

rose above the tree tops and disappeared. The rain was still falling and the small traveller wondered how much further he had to go. Then through a gap in the wood he saw the rock. And sure enough the ladder was there like a thin thread rising to the sky.

In spite of his soggy boots he galloped like a pony to the rockside, climbed up and began to scale the ladder. Above him was the grey watery sky and far below the river roaring along. He was going—but horrors ! The ladder began to shake—whatever was the matter? He went up a step. Worse and worse it wobbled, beginning to sway and bend.

Pete decided to go down. Everything seemed quite safe on the journey back. Poof, he wasn't going to be beaten. Up he climbed again. Then at exactly the same place as he halted before (he knew it was because his handkerchief lay on the step) the ladder began to heave and play tricks as before.

Pulling his umbrella out of his pocket he stood miserably looking up and down. A lowing of wings! The bird <vith big-as-tablecloth-wings. ii circled around him as if inviting him to follow. Poor Pete, he couldn't fly; he looked more downcast than ever. Suddenly, even before he knew what had happened, he was astride, the bird's back, riding as smoothly as if he were on a cloud. With one hand he clutched his umbrella and dug the other into a sea of feathers. High above in cloud country the King of Rain was waiting for him. He ordered the shower to cease and when Pete arrived the sun was shining.

He bowed one knee before the king, who was almost hidden by "loud blankets.

"Such a brave boy!" said the Rain King, very pleased, and he tied on to the handle of Pete's

umbrella a magic tassel. "So that whenever your umbrella goes up the tain will stop," said the king, vanishing into wispy cloudlets.

"Why am T so much lighter to carry, good bird?" aske'd Pete of the bird on the way down, but it could only flap its wings. "I'll tell you," said Pete, "it's 'cause I'm so happy." 'Tor he knew that never again would he have to sit under a roof and listen to the rackety rain, rain, rain.