"And it is getting late, too," said the Monkey to himself, as he looked up at the sky. "Soon the sun will set, and it will be dark. And then it will be so much the harder for me to find Dick and Herbert and Carlo, or for them to find me. Well, I suppose I must make the best of it."
He was a plucky Monkey chap, almost as adventurous as the Bold Tin Soldier, and he kept jumping on through the tall grass of the meadow. All at once, as he skipped along, being able to move quite fast now that he was off his stick, the Monkey stumbled over a stone and fell flat down.
"Ouch!" he cried, as he picked himself up. "I hope I haven't broken anything."
Very luckily he had not. He was as good as ever, except that his plush fur was rumpled a bit. But he soon brushed himself smooth again, and he was about to hop on, when, all at once, he felt a splash of water on his head.
"Dear me! is some one squirting water at me from a toy rubber ball or a water pistol?" exclaimed the Monkey.
More drops splashed down, dozens and dozens of them. Then the Monkey looked up and cried:
"Oh, it's raining! It's pouring! I'll be soaking wet! I'll be drowned out in the rain without an umbrella or rubbers! Oh, my!"
And the rain came down harder and harder and harder.