"All the same, I have not yet heard how you became mist," said the Night-Violet. "Only, _please_ don't get into a passion again. You know you promised to tell me without my asking you, and I would sooner hear the whole story over again than shiver once more in your horrid, clammy arms." The Mist lay silent and sobbed for a few moments. Then she went on with her story:--"After I had fallen on the earth as rain, I sank down into the black soil, and was already congratulating myself on soon getting back to my birthplace, the deep underground spring. There, at any rate, one enjoyed peace and had no cares. But, as I was sinking into the ground, the tree roots sucked me up, and I had to wander about for a whole day in the boughs and leaves. They treated me as a beast of burden, I assure you. All the food that the leaves and flowers needed I had to carry up to them from the roots. It was not till the evening that I managed to get away. When the sun had gone down the flowers and trees all heaved a deep sigh, and I and my sisters flew off in that sigh in the form of bright airy Mists. To-night we dance on the meadow. But when the sun rises in the morning we shall turn into those pretty transparent dewdrops which hang from your petals. When you shake us off we shall sink deeper and deeper till we reach the spring we came from--that is, if some root or other does not snap us up on the way. And so the journey goes on. Down the brook, out into the lake, up into the air, down again to the earth--" "Stop!" said the Night-Violet. "If I listen to you any more, I shall become quite sea-sick." Now the frog began to stir. He stretched his legs, and went down to the ditch to take his morning bath. The birds began to twitter in the wood, and the bellow of the stag echoed amongst the trees. It was on the point of dawn, and here came the Sun peeping up over the hill. "Hullo, what is that?" he said. "What a strange sight! One can't see one's hand before one's face. Wind of the morning! up with you, you sluggard, and drive the foul Mists away." The Morning Wind came over the meadow, and away went the Mists. And at the very same moment the first rays of the Sun fell right on the Night-Violet. "Heyday!" said the flower. "We have got the Sun already, so I had better make haste and shut up. Where in the world has the Mist gone to?" "I am still here," said the Dewdrop that hung on its stalk. But the Night-Violet shook herself peevishly. "You may stuff children with that nonsense," she said. "As for me, I don't believe a word of your whole story. It is as weak as water." Then the Sun laughed and said, "You are quite right _there_!" THE ANEMONES By Carl Ewald "Peeweet! peeweet!" cried the Plover, as he flew over the bog in the wood. "My Lady Spring is coming! I can tell it from the feeling in my legs and wings."