Mr. Rabbit chuckled so that he bent nearly double.
“I don’t remember that,” sighed Mr. Thimblefinger. “You two have more jokes between you than you can shake a stick at. That comes of me being small and puny. Tell us about it, please.”
Mr. Rabbit fingered his pipe—a way he had when he put on his thinking-cap, as Mrs. Meadows expressed it—and presently said:—
“It’s not such a joke after all, but I’ll let you judge for yourself. Once upon a time, when all of us lived next door, on the other side of the spring, there was a tremendous drouth. I had been living a long time, but never before had seen such a long dry spell. Everybody was farming except myself, and even I had planted a small garden.
“Well, there was a big rain about planting-time, but after that came the drouth, and the hot weather with it. One month, six weeks, two months, ten weeks—and still no sign of rain. The cotton was all shriveled up, and the corn looked as if it would catch a-fire, it was so dry; even the cow-peas turned yellow. Everything was parched. The creeks ran dry, and the rivers got so low the mills had to stop. I remember that when Brother Bear tried to carry me across the ferry his flatboat ran aground in the middle of the river, and the water was so low we found we could wade out.
“The drouth got so bad that everybody was complaining—everybody except me. Brother Wolf and Brother Bear would come and sit on my front porch and do nothing but complain; but I said nothing. I simply smoked my pipe and shook my head, and said nothing. They noticed this, after so long a time, and one day, while they were sitting there complaining and declaring that they were ruined, I went in to get a drink of water. I came back gently and heard them asking each other how it was that I didn’t join in their complaints. When I came out, Brother Wolf says, says he: ‘Brother Rabbit, how are your craps?’ I remember he said ‘craps.’
“‘Well,’ says I, ‘my craps are middling good. They might be better, and they might be worse, but I have no cause to grumble.’
“They looked at each other, and then Brother Bear asked if I had had any rain at my house. ‘None,’ says I, ‘to brag about—a drizzle here and a drizzle there, but nothing to boast of.’
“They looked at each other in great surprise, and then Brother Wolf spoke up. ‘Brother Rabbit,’ says he, ‘how can you get a drizzle and the rest of us not a drop?’
“‘Well,’ says I, ‘some folks that know me call me the rain-maker. They may be right. They may be wrong. I’m not going to squabble about it. You can call me what you please. I shall not dispute with you.’