! The roses have faded, and the
leaves fall down! It's wet here! it's boisterous here! The birds who
used to sing are dumb, and the pigs go out hunting for acorns, and the
pigs are the lords of the forest!"

The nights were cold and the days were misty; but, for all that, the
raven sat on the branch and sang, "Good! good!" Raven and crow sat on
the high bough; and they had a large family, who all said, "Good!
good!" and the majority is always right.

Under the high trees, in the hollow, was a great puddle, and here the
pigs reclined, great and small. They found the place so inexpressibly
lovely! "Oui! oui!" they all exclaimed. That was all the French they
knew, but even that was something; and they were so clever and so fat!

The old ones lay quite still, and reflected; the young ones were very
busy, and were not quiet a moment. One little porker had a twist in
his tail like a ring, and this ring was his mothers's pride: she
thought all the rest were looking at the ring, and thinking only of
the ring; but that they were not doing; they were thinking of
themselves and of what was useful, and what was the use of the wood.
They had always heard that the acorns they ate grew at the roots of
the trees, and accordingly they had grubbed up the ground; but there
came quite a little pig--it's always the young ones who come out with
their new-fangled notions--who declared that the acorns fell down from
the branches, for one had just fallen down on his head, and the idea
had struck him at once, afterwards he had made observations, and now
was quite certain on the point. The old ones put their heads together.
"Umph!" they said, "umph! The glory has departed: the twittering of
the birds is all over: we want fruit; whatever's good to eat is good,
and we eat everything."

"Oui! oui!" chimed in all the rest.

But the mother now looked at her little porker, the one with the ring
in his tail, "One must not overlook the beautiful," she said. "Good!
good!" cried the crow, and flew down from the tree to try and get an
appointment as nightingale; for some one must be appointed; and the
crow obtained the office directly.

"Gone! gone!" sighed the rose king. "All the beautiful is gone!"

It was boisterous, it was grey, cold, and windy; and through the
forest and over the field swept the rain in long dark streaks. Where
is the bird who sang, where are the flowers upon the meadow, and the
sweet berries of the wood? Gone! gone!

Then a