s quite as uncanny as a regular ghost-story. Or
else the blades of grass would just whisper softly and nonsensically;
but that also is nice to listen to sometimes when you are tired and have
nothing on your conscience.

If anything joyful happened to any one of the friends, they all
rejoiced. When the maiden-pink and the bell-flower budded, the
hazel-bush offered his congratulations, the linnet struck his longest
trill and the blades of grass appointed a deputation and bowed
respectfully to the ground and each shed a dewy tear of emotion. When
the little linnets crept out of the egg, all the friends were as happy
as if they themselves had had children.

[Illustration]

From out of the wood came the whistling and singing of many birds, but
this did not concern the friends. Sometimes a roe would come bounding or
a fox sneaking along; and once a frightened hare hid under the
hazel-bush, while the guns banged all around and the dogs gave tongue.
They would talk about an event like this for days together. But then
they lapsed into quietude again; and time wore on to summer.

2

Then, one morning, the maiden-pink felt strangely unwell.

Her stalks and leaves were slack and she had a regular pain in her
roots. Her flowers were so queer and loose, she thought.

[Illustration]

When she complained of not being well, the sheep's-scabious and the
bell-flower said that it was just the same with them. So did the blades
of grass, but that did not count, for they always agreed with any one
they were talking to. The moss said nothing, but that did not signify
either, for nobody asked him.

"We want rain," said the hazel-bush. "There's nothing else the matter.
It doesn't affect me yet, but I suppose it will. You are so short and
slender; that's why you feel it first."

The blades of grass nodded and thought that this was remarkably well
said on the part of the hazel-bush. The others hung their heads. The
linnet sang as best he could to cheer the sick friends.

But sick they were and sick they remained; and it grew worse every day.

"I think I'm dying," said the maiden-pink.

[Illustration]

The blades of grass observed, most politely, that they were already
half-dead. The hazel-bush was not feeling well either and the linnet
thought the air so heavy that he was not at all inclined to sing.

And, while they were talking about all this, towards the evening, they
heard the same complaint in the whispering that came fro