were well enough in the spring, when they were new
and fresh, but now you have been wearing them all summer, and they are
dirty and soiled. So I have persuaded my friend Frost to stop here on
his way through the meadow, and to paint you all over, with fresh, new,
beautiful colors. Only think of it, darlings! think how lovely you will
look, all shining in crimson and gold! Now, am I not a good friend? and
will you not all give me kisses for this?"

"Oh yes! yes indeed, you good Wind!" cried the leaves. "We will give you
as many kisses as you want, and we will thank you till you are tired of
being thanked. Oh! how delightful it will be!" and they danced about and
about, and they kissed the Wind, and he kissed them.

"And now, good-night!" he said. "Remember, not a word of this to the old
Tree, for it would be a pity to rob him of the pleasure of such a
charming surprise."

He flew away, but the leaves were too happy to go to sleep again. They
whispered and chattered all night about their new dresses. This one
would have yellow, and that one would have pink, and that one scarlet,
while some of the older ones preferred a rich golden russet. And when
morning came, they were still whispering and chattering, and could think
of nothing else all day.

At last the wished-for night came; and a beautiful night it was, very
cool, but perfectly still, and brilliant with moonlight and starlight.
The little leaves waited and waited, till they were, oh! so sleepy! but
no one came. At length, when their eyes were closing in spite of
themselves, they felt a sudden cold strike them, a cold so intense that
it almost took away their breath. They looked up, and saw advancing over
the meadow towards them, a strange figure which they knew in a moment
must be that of the great Frost. He was very tall and thin, and very
pale; and his long robe, and his hair, and his long curling moustaches,
looked exactly like silver. Indeed, there was a silvery glitter all
about and around him, and as he passed lightly over the grass, it too
seemed to them to silver under his feet. He came straight on, came to
the tree. Then, without speaking a word, he drew out a long silver brush
which had been hidden beneath his robe, and a palette covered with
brilliant colors, and began to paint the leaves. But oh! what a deadly
chill struck through them when the silver brush touched them. Cold,
cold, cold! and a kind of numbness, and a heavy drowsiness, began to
creep