It was a hot, hot day. The sun blazed down like fire, and every road lay dry and dusty. A thirsty crow flew and flew until he was puffing for breath, his throat as dry as a stick. "Where can I find a little water?"
So the crow looked everywhere. The pond had dried up and cracked. The well was empty. Even the bowl in the yard hadn't a drop. No water here, no water there — no water anywhere!
Then something caught his eye. In the corner of a yard stood a tall clay pitcher. Crow's eyes went wide. "Water! There must be water in there!" He flapped down beside it.
But oh no! Only a little water sat at the very bottom, and the pitcher's neck was long and narrow. Crow dipped in his beak — he couldn't reach. He leaned in further, and further still… "So close! And I can't get one sip!"
So Crow sat down and thought. He thought and thought. Then his eye fell on some little pebbles lying nearby — and pop! An idea jumped into his head. "I've got it! If I drop pebbles in, the water will rise!"
Crow picked up a pebble and dropped it in — plop! Then another — plop! One by one, pebble by pebble, the water crept up… up… up. Crow did not stop. Plop… plop… plop!
At last the water rose right to the top! Crow dipped his beak in and drank in big, happy gulps — ah, so cool and sweet! His thirst was gone, and his heart felt light as a feather.