He returned
to his green nook beside the brook and sat down
again. He thought for the moment no more of wood-
piles, of his life. He thought about those two young
girls who had been afraid of him. He had never had
an impulse to harm any living thing. A curious
hatred toward these living things who had accused
him of such an impulse came over him. He laughed
sardonically. He wished that they would again
come and peer at him through the bushes; he would
make a threatening motion for the pleasure of seeing
the silly things scuttle away.
After a while he put it all out of mind, and again
returned to his problem. He lay beside the brook
and pondered, and finally fell asleep in the hot air,
which increased in venom, until the rattle of thun-
der awoke him. It was very dark -- a strange, livid
darkness. "A thunder-storm," he muttered, and
then he thought of his new clothes -- what a mis-
fortune it would be to have them soaked. He arose
and pushed through the thicket around him into a
cart path, and it was then that he saw the thing
which proved to be the stepping-stone toward his
humble fortunes. It was only a small silk umbrella
with a handle tipped with pearl. He seized upon it
with joy, for it meant the salvation of his precious
clothes. He opened it and held it over his head,
although the rain had not yet begun.
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