On the hearth stood an intruder; a dilapidated old umbrella was in the corner, drops of dirty water trickling in streams across the hearth from the damp folds.
"I have wet my feet in this muddy river," said the Wasp.
"The hearth was so clean before," sighed the Caterpillar.
"I am really very sorry my master the peddler left me in your way," said the Umbrella, meekly. "Only I cannot help it."
"To be sure not," said the Kettle. "You look like an old traveller, friend; will you tell us something of yourself?"
"Certainly," replied the Umbrella, and began his history:—
THE STORY OF AN UMBRELLA.
"You will hardly believe it when I say that I was once as handsome as an umbrella need to be; I am so faded and stained by old age or rough exposure now. Yet I actually was; for in the large manufactory where I was born, no stouter whalebone frame or finely carved handle could be found.