Mr. Rabbit paused, looked at the youngster solemnly, and said, "Well, I'll tell you. I didn't laugh because anybody had hurt my feelings. I just laughed at circumstances. I sat and waited until the afternoon was half gone, and then slipped up the hill to see what was to be seen and hear what was to be heard. Everything was very quiet up there. Those who had gone up there to decide what sort of rain they wanted were sitting; around under the pine-trees, looking very sour and saying nothing. The ground was torn up a little in spots, and I thought I could see scattered around little patches of hair and little pieces of hide. I judged from that that the arguments they had used were very serious. I watched them from behind the bushes a little while, and then Brother Bear walked out into the open and declared that any one who didn't want the rain to be a trash-mover was anything but a nice fellow. At this Brother Coon, who lived in the low grounds, remarked that anybody who wanted anything more than a drizzle was not well raised at all. "Then I soon found out what the trouble was. Brother Bear, living on the uplands, wanted a big rain; Brother Coon, who lived in the low grounds, wanted a little rain; Brother Fox wanted a tolerably heavy shower; and Brother Mink just wanted a cloudy night to coax the frogs out. Some wanted a freshet, some wanted a drizzle, and some wanted a fog. "They wouldn't agree because they couldn't agree," continued Brother Rabbit, "and finally they slunk off to their homes one at a time. So I didn't have to make any rain at all." "But you couldn't have made it rain," said Sweetest Susan placidly. "I didn't say I could," replied Mr. Rabbit. "I told them I would make the rain if they would agree among themselves." "But you took what they brought you?" suggested Sweetest Susan in a tone that was intended for a rebuke. [Illustration: BROTHER BEAR ARGUING THE RAIN QUESTION] "Well," Mr. Rabbit answered, "you know what the old saying is--'Fools have to pay for their folly.' They might as well have paid me as to pay somebody else. That's the way I looked at it in those days. I don't know how I'd look at it now, because I'm not so nimble footed as I used to be, nor so full of mischief." "If there had been many more such fools in your neighborhood," remarked Mr. Thimblefinger, "you could have set up a grocery-store." There was a little pause, and then Mrs. Meadows, looking around, exclaimed:-- "Just look yonder, will you?" Chickamy Crany Crow had two sticks, and with these she was playing on an imaginary fiddle. Tickle-My-Toes had the broom, and this, he pretended, was a banjo. The two queer-looking creatures wagged their heads from side to side and patted the ground with their feet, just as though they were making sure-enough music, and presently Tickle-My-Toes sang this song to a very lively tune:-- OH, LULLYMALOO!