"peewit! peewit!" cried the lapwing, as he flew over the bog in the wood. "dame spring is coming! i can feel it in my legs and wings."

when the new grass, which lay below in the earth, heard this, it at once began to sprout and peeped out gaily from between the old yellow straw. for the grass is always in an immense hurry.

now the anemones in among the trees had also heard the lapwing's cry, but refused on any account to appear above the earth:

"you mustn't believe the lapwing," they whispered to one another. "he's a flighty customer and not to be trusted. he always comes too early and starts calling at once. no, we will wait quietly till the starling and the swallow come. they are sensible, sober people, who are not to be taken in and who know what they are about."

and the starlings came.

they perched on a twig outside their summer villa and looked about them:

"too early, as usual," said mr. starling. "not a green leaf and not a fly, except an old tough one of last year, not worth opening one's beak for."

mrs. starling said nothing, but looked none too cheerful either.

"if we had only remained in our snug winter-quarters beyond the mountains!" said mr. starling. he was angry because his wife did not answer, for he was so cold that he thought a little discussion might do him good. "but it's your fault, just as last year. you're always in such a terrible hurry to come out to the country."

"if i'm in a hurry, i know the reason why," said mrs. starling. "and it would be a shame for you if you didn't know too, for they are your eggs just as much as mine."

"heaven forbid!" replied mr. starling, indignantly. "when have i denied my family? perhaps you expect me, over and above, to sing to you in the cold?"

"yes, that i do!" said mrs. starling, in the tone which he could not resist.

he at once began to whistle as best he could. but, when mrs. starling had heard the first notes, she flapped her wings and pecked at him with her beak:

"will you be quiet at once!" she screamed, angrily. "it sounds so dismal that it makes one feel quite melancholy. you'd better see to it that the anemones come up. i think it's high time. and, besides, one always feels warmer when there are others shivering too."

now, as soon as the anemones had heard the starling's first whistle, they carefully stuck their heads out of the ground. but they were still so tightly tucked up in their green wraps that one could hardly see them. they looked like green buds that might turn into anything.

"it's too early," they whispered. "it's a shame for the starling to call us. there's no one left in the world that one can trust."

then the swallow came:

"tsee! tsee!"he whistled and darted through the air on his long, pointed wings.

"out with you, you silly flowers! can't you see that dame spring has come?"

but the anemones had become careful. they just pushed their green wraps a little to one side and peeped out:

"one swallow does not make a summer," they said. "where is your wife? you have only come to see if it's possible to live here and now you're trying to take us in. but we are not so stupid as all that. we know that, once we catch cold, we're done for."

"you're a pack of poltroons," said the swallow and sat down on the weathercock on the ranger's roof and looked out over the landscape.

but the anemones stood and waited and were very cold. one or two of them, who could not control their impatience, cast off their wraps in the sun. the cold at night killed them; and the story of their pitiful death went from flower to flower and aroused great consternation.