U THAT ARE KILLING US.']

But the beech shook his long boughs, so that the brown husks fell to the
ground:

"Wait till autumn, you little blockheads," he said and laughed. "Then
you'll just see."

The anemones could not understand what he meant. But, when they had
stretched themselves as far as they could, they cracked in two and
withered.

3

Summer was past and the farmer had carted his corn home from the field.

The wood was still green, but darker; and, in many places, yellow and
red leaves appeared among the green ones. The sun was tired after his
hot work during the summer and went to bed early.

[Illustration]

At night, winter stole through the trees to see if his time would soon
come. When he found a flower, he kissed her politely and said:

"Well, well, are you there still? I am glad to see you. Stay where you
are. I am a harmless old man and wouldn't hurt a fly."

But the flower shuddered at his kiss and the bright dew-drops hanging
from her petals froze to ice at the same moment.

Winter went oftener and oftener through the wood. He breathed upon the
leaves, till they turned yellow, or upon the ground, till even the
anemones, who lay below in the earth, waiting for Dame Spring to come
again as she had promised, could feel his breath and shuddered right
down to their roots:

"Oh dear, how cold it is!" they said to one another. "How ever shall we
last through the winter? We are sure to die before it is over."

"Now my time has come," said winter. "Now I need no longer steal round
like a thief in the night. From to-morrow, I shall look every one
straight in the face and bite his nose and make his eyes run with
tears."

At night, the storm broke loose.

"Let me see you make a clean sweep of things," said winter.

And the storm obeyed his orders. He tore howling through the wood and
shook the branches till they creaked and broke. Any that were at all
decayed fell down and those that held on had to twist and turn to every
side.

"Away with all that finery!" howled the storm and tore off the leaves.
"This is no time to dress yourselves up. Soon there will be snow on the
branches: that's another story."

All the leaves fell terrified to the ground, but the storm did not let
them lie in peace. He took them round the waist and waltzed with them
over the field, high up in the air and into the wood again, swept them
together into great heaps and scattered them once more to every side,
just as