Presently something very cold fell on Sleepy-head’s nose.  What could it be?  He put up his little paw and dabbed at the place.  Then the same thing happened to his tail.  He whisked it quickly round to the front.  Ah, it was raining!  Now Sleepy-head couldn’t bear rain, and he had got a long way from home.  What would mother say if his nice furry coat got wet and draggled?  He crept under a bush, but soon the rain found him out.  Then he ran to a tree, but this was poor shelter.  He began to think that he was in for a soaking when what should he spy, a little distance off, but a fine toadstool which stood bolt upright just like an umbrella.  The next moment Sleepy-head was crawling underneath the friendly shelter.  He fixed himself up as snugly as he could, with his little nose upon his paws and his little tail curled round all, and before you could count six, eight, ten, twenty, he was fast asleep.

Now it happened that Sleepy-head was not the only creature that was caught by the rain that morning in the wood.  A little elf had been flitting about in search of fun or mischief, and he, too, had got far from home when the raindrops began to come pattering through the leafy roof of the beautiful wood.  It would never do to get his pretty wings wet, for he hated to walk—­it was such slow work and, besides, he might meet some big wretched animal that could run faster than himself.  However, he was beginning to think that there was no help for it, when, on a sudden, there before him was the toadstool, with Sleepy-head snug and dry underneath!  There was room for another little fellow, thought the elf, and ere long he had safely bestowed himself under the other half of the toadstool, which was just like an umbrella.

Sleepy-head slept on, warm and comfortable in his furry coat, and the elf began to feel annoyed with him for being so happy.  He was always a great mischief, and he could not bear to sit still for long at a time.  Presently he laughed a queer little laugh.  He had got an idea!  Putting his two small arms round the stem of the toadstool he tugged and he pulled until, of a sudden, snap!  He had broken the stem, and a moment later was soaring in air safely sheltered under the toadstool, which he held upright by its stem as he flew.

Sleepy-head had been dreaming, oh, so cosy a dream!  It seemed to him that he had discovered a storehouse filled with golden grain and soft juicy nuts with little bunches of sweet-smelling hay, where tired mousies might sleep dull hours away.  He thought that he was settled in the sweetest bunch of all, with nothing in the world to disturb his nap, when gradually he became aware that something had happened.  He shook himself in his sleep and settled down again, but the dream had altered.  He opened his eyes.  Rain was falling, pit-a-pat, and he was without cover on a wet patch of grass.  What could be the matter?  Sleepy-head was now wide awake.  Said he,

“DEAR ME, WHERE IS MY TOADSTOOL?”