he came. He was wrapped in
furs, and he roared all day about the garden, and blew the chimney-pots
down. "This is a delightful spot," he said, "we must ask the Hail on a
visit." So the Hail came. Every day for three hours he rattled on the
roof of the castle till he broke most of the slates, and then he ran
round and round the garden as fast as he could go. He was dressed in
grey, and his breath was like ice.

"I cannot understand why the Spring is so late in coming," said the
Selfish Giant, as he sat at the window and looked out at his cold white
garden; "I hope there will be a change in the weather."

But the Spring never came, nor the Summer. The Autumn gave golden fruit
to every garden, but to the Giant's garden she gave none. "He is too
selfish," she said. So it was always Winter there, and the North Wind
and the Hail, and the Frost, and the Snow danced about through the
trees.

One morning the Giant was lying awake in bed when he heard some lovely
music. It sounded so sweet to his ears that he thought it must be the
King's musicians passing by. It was really only a little linnet singing
outside his window, but it was so long since he had heard a bird sing in
his garden that it seemed to him to be the most beautiful music in the
world. Then the Hail stopped dancing over his head, and the North Wind
ceased roaring, and a delicious perfume came to him through the open
casement. "I believe the Spring has come at last," said the Giant;
and he jumped out of bed and looked out.

What did he see?

He saw a most wonderful sight. Through a little hole in the wall the
children had crept in, and they were sitting in the branches of the
trees. In every tree that he could see there was a little child. And the
trees were so glad to have the children back again that they had covered
themselves with blossoms, and were waving their arms gently above the
children's heads. The birds were flying about and twittering with
delight, and the flowers were looking up through the green grass and
laughing. It was a lovely scene, only in one corner it was still winter.
It was the farthest corner of the garden, and in it was standing a
little boy.

[Illustration: IN EVERY TREE HE COULD SEE THERE WAS A LITTLE CHILD]

He was so small that he could not reach up to the branches of the tree,
and he was wandering all round it, crying bitterly. The poor tree was
still quite covered with frost and snow, and the North Wind was blowing
and roa