Buckets of Rain
- Part One
"Buckets of rain!" cried the lumpish
crimson-jacketed dwarf trundling down the High
street of our town with his ware. "Who will buy my
buckets of rain - freshly collected this morning
before the dawn !"
"Get away with you," called out
Thomas the Butcher. "I'll have none of your buckets
of rain. I have a hole in my shop's roof and this
morning I found
my storeroom flooded and all my meat
perfectly ruined. Move on before I box your
ears!" "Buckets of rain!" cried the dwarf,
scowling a little now. "Rain from the edge of the
Ancient Forest, freshly dripped from leaf and sky,
sweetened with elf song and the dreams of flowers.
Who will buy my lovely rain?"
"Bah!" called out Ms. Ethyl
Two-Bunions the Post Mistress. as she stood outside
the Post Office, searching for the big iron key to
its door in his purse. "How are decent folk to know you
haven't just dipped your buckets in the village
pond? You dwarfs are a sly and shiftless people
always looking for an easy way to gull honest
God-fearing citizens out of their well-earned
"Selling rain is no respectable way
for man or dwarf to make a living. Unless you have
a soft chamois-leather with you and care to wash
the Post Office windows with your rain-water for a
then be off with you!"
The dwarf glared fiercely back at
"This is no pond-water, Mistress,"
he said "and far too good to wash your dirty
windows. Why'd you let them get so filthy in the
Of course, Ms. Ethyl Two-Bunions
bridled at this immediately.
"Clear off this instant, you
horrible little vagabond or I'll call the police.
If my husband were still alive you wouldn't talk to
me like that!"
"Your husband is perfectly alive and living
with Good-widow Jenkins over the hat shop in
two miles away - everybody in the village knows
that... even so, I expect he can still hear your
voice from there!
rain!" called out the dwarf, proceeding down the
street, his customary native grumpiness lightened
considerably by this latest interchange. "Who will
buy my buckets of fresh
Part two follows the adverts