then dame spring came, one delightfully mild and still night.

no one knows what she looks like, for no one has ever seen her. but all long for her and thank her and bless her. she goes through the wood and touches the flowers and the trees and they bud at once. she goes through the stables and unfastens the cattle and lets them out into the fields. she goes straight into men's hearts and gladdens them. she makes it difficult for the best-behaved boy to sit still on his bench at school and occasions a terrible lot of mistakes in the exercise-books.

but she does not do this all at once. she attends to her business night after night and comes direct to those who long for her most.

so it happened that, on the very night when she arrived, she went straight to the anemones, who stood in their green wraps and could no longer curb their impatience.

and one, two, three! there they stood in newly-ironed white frocks and looked so fresh and pretty that the starlings sang their finest songs for sheer joy at the sight of them.

"oh, how lovely it is here!" said the anemones. "how warm the sun is! and how the birds are singing! it is a thousand times better than last year."

but they say this every year, so it doesn't count.

now there were many others who went quite off their heads when they saw that the anemones were out. there 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.

"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."

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.