ere was a schoolboy who wanted to have
his summer holidays right away; and then there was the beech, who was
highly offended:

"Aren't you coming to me soon, Dame Spring?" he said. "I am a much more
important person than those silly anemones and really I can no longer
control my buds."

"Coming, coming!" replied Dame Spring. "But you must give me a little
time."

She went on through the wood. And, at every step, more anemones
appeared. They stood in thick bevies around the roots of the beech and
modestly bowed their round heads to the ground.

[Illustration]

"Look up freely," said Dame Spring, "and rejoice in Heaven's bright sun.
Your lives are but short, so you must enjoy them while they last."

The anemones did as she told them. They stretched themselves and spread
their white petals to every side and drank as much sunshine as they
could. They pushed their heads against one another and twined their
stalks together and laughed and were wonderfully happy.

"Now I can wait no longer," said the beech and burst into leaf.

Leaf after leaf crept out of its green covering and spread out and
fluttered in the wind. The whole green crown arched itself like a mighty
roof above the earth.

"Good heavens, is it evening so soon?" asked the anemones, who thought
that it had turned quite dark.

"No, this is death," said Dame Spring. "Now you're over. It's the same
with you as with the best in this world. All must bud, blossom and die."

"Die?" cried some of the small anemones. "Must we die so soon?"

And some of the large anemones turned quite red in the face with anger
and arrogance:

"We know all about it!" they said. "It's the beech that's killing us. He
steals the sunshine for his own leaves and grudges us a single ray. He's
a nasty, wicked thing."

They stood and scolded and wept for some days. Then Dame Spring came for
the last time through the wood. She still had the oaks and some other
querulous old fellows to visit:

"Lie down nicely to sleep now in the ground," she said to the anemones.
"It's no use kicking against the pricks. Next year, I will come again
and wake you to new life."

And some of the anemones did as she told them. But others continued to
stick their heads in the air and grew up so ugly and lanky that they
were horrid to look at:

"Fie, for shame!" they cried to the beech-leaves. "It's you that are
killing us."

[Illustration: 'FIE, FOR SHAME!' THEY CRIED TO THE BEECH-LEAVES. 'IT'S
YO