“The old man thought it was raining.”
But one day it happened that the cook could not find anything for the old man’s dinner. She looked high, and she looked low, but nothing could she find; so she was very unhappy; for she knew her master would be miserable if he had no dinner. She sat down by the well, and wept bitterly; and her tears fell into the well so fast that the little old man thought it was raining, and put up a red cotton umbrella, which he borrowed for the occasion. You may wonder where he borrowed it; but I cannot tell you, because I do not know.
Now, at that moment a traveller happened to pass by, and when he saw the cook sitting by the well and weeping, he stopped, and asked her what was the matter. The cook told him that she was weeping because she could not find anything to cook for her master’s dinner.
“And who is your master?” asked the traveller.
“He is a little old man,” replied the cook; “and he lives down in this well.”
“Why does he live there?” inquired the traveller.
“I do not know,” answered the cook; “I never asked him.”
“He must be a singular person,” said the traveller. “I should like to see him. What does he look like?”
But this the cook could not tell him; for she had never seen the little old man, having come to work for him after he had gone down to live in the well.
“Does he like to receive visitors?” asked the traveller.