Thumbkins did not know how long he had been asleep, but when he awakened the rain had ceased.  Thumbkins knew it had stopped raining for he could no longer hear the rain drops pattering upon Mamma Meadow-Lark’s back.  So now he climbed out of the nest and looked about.

The ground about the Meadow-Lark’s nest was covered with tiny puddles, and Mamma Meadow-Lark was soaking wet.  She looked very uncomfortable.  Her feathers stuck out in all directions and a drop of water fell from her head and rolled down her beak.

Thumbkins thought at first Mamma Meadow-Lark was crying, and he said:  “Are you cold, Mamma Meadow-Lark?”

“Yes, indeed!” Mamma Meadow-Lark replied as she shook her ruffled feathers, sending the water flying in all directions.

“But, you see,” she continued, “if I did not cover my baby Meadow-Lark chicks they would get very, very cold, for they have little bald heads with not a single feather upon them to protect them!  So, while I get wet, it does not matter so much, for I know I have kept my little Meadow-Lark chicks dry and warm and cozy and that, of course, makes me very happy!  And I had the pleasure of keeping you warm and dry, too!” Mamma Meadow-Lark added.

“Perhaps Mamma Meadow-Lark is very happy inside!” Thumbkins thought to himself as he stood and looked at her.  “But she does not look very happy with such wet feathers.”

“I thank you ever and ever so much, Mamma Meadow-Lark!” Thumbkins said.

“You are indeed very welcome,” Mamma Meadow-Lark replied, “and any time it rains you can come back to my nest and crawl beneath my wing and keep warm and dry.  For you are tiny and do not take up much room!”

Thumbkins thanked Mamma Meadow-Lark again, and told her of his nice warm cozy little nest beneath the mushroom.  “It is always nice and dry there,” he said, “for the rain runs right off the mushroom and does not touch my little cobweb home!”

That night as he lay in his little thistle-down bed, Thumbkins heard it thundering.  “I’m very glad that I haven’t a home built right out upon the bare ground like the meadow-larks!” he said.  And as the thunder grew louder, Thumbkins turned over and tried to go to sleep.

Presently the raindrops began to patter on the round top of the mushroom and “drip-dropped” to the ground without getting Thumbkins’ little house the least bit wet.  Usually when it rained, the patter of the raindrops upon his mushroom roof lulled Thumbkins right to sleep, but tonight Thumbkins lay wide awake and thought and thought.

“I can’t go to sleep!” Thumbkins said, so he hopped out of his warm little bed and lit his tiny lantern.  Then, though it was raining ever so hard, he pulled his little hat well down on his head and ran out into the storm.

Yes!  There was Mamma Meadow-Lark sitting upon her nest with her head tucked under her wing, sound asleep.  But when he held his tiny lantern close, Thumbkins could see that she shivered as the cold raindrops splashed upon her back.