"The old lady's nephew came home from school for a holiday; and, after shocking our nerves in that quiet spot a week, he departed again, in a rain-storm. The good aunt insisted upon my being made use of, although the young master did not wish it at all. When the rain ceased, he carelessly threw me out by the road-side,—then drove on to his destination.
"I remained in the ditch several days, all soaked and muddy as you now see me. Finally the peddler, who is stopping here to-night, discovered me, while he was driving his wagon slowly along, and raised me from my lowly position.
"I do not know where I may go next," said the Umbrella, mournfully. "We are all born, but we are not all dead, you know."
"A new thought, certainly," remarked the Kettle, drowsily. "Follow an umbrella from the cradle to the grave."
It was now time for the Wasp to distinguish himself.
"I can repeat something, in the fairy-tale style, which was told me by Mother Carey's chicken, when we were waiting for the nestling to grow strong enough for us to make our journey. It is:—
THE GODMOTHER'S GIFTS.
"On the edge of the wood there once lived a poor woman, and her three children. On the opposite bank of the broad clear river rose the king's palace of marble, with a flag floating proudly from the battlements; but the poor woman's children never had crossed the river, or dared to venture into the magnificent gardens which surrounded the royal residence. Ah, no! they were too poor for that.