The Anemones did as she told them. They stretched and strained, and spread their white petals to all sides, to drink as much sunshine as they could. They pushed their heads against one another, and twined their stalks together, and laughed, and were immensely happy. "Now I can wait no longer," said the Beech, and he burst into leaf. Leaf after leaf crept forth from its green sheath and waved in the wind. The great Tree made a green arch, like a mighty roof over the earth. "Dear me, is it already evening?" asked the Anemones, who noticed that it had grown quite dark. "No; it is Death," said my Lady Spring. "Now _your_ time is over. It happens to you just as it happens to all that is best on earth. Everything in turn must spring to life, and bloom, and die." "Die?" cried some little Anemones. "Must we die already?" And some of the big ones grew quite red in the face in their terror and vexation. "We know what it is," they said. "It is the Beech that is the death of us. He steals the sunshine for his own leaves, and does not allow us a single ray. He is a mean, wicked thing." They stood for some days, grumbling and crying. Then my Lady Spring came for the last time through the wood. She had still the Oak Trees and some other crusty old fellows to attend to. "Lie down nicely in the earth and go to sleep," she said to the Anemones, "It is of no use to kick against the pricks. Next year I will come back and waken you once more to life." And some of the Anemones did as she told them. But others still stretched their heads into the air, and grew so ugly and stalky that it was horrid to see them. "Fie for shame!" they cried to the Beech Leaves. "It is you who are killing us," But the Beech shook his long boughs and let his brown husks drop down to the ground, "Wait till the autumn, you little simpletons," he said, laughing. "Then you shall see." The Anemones could not understand what he meant. But when they had stretched themselves till they were as tall as they could be, they broke off and withered. The summer was over, and the farmer had carried his corn home from the field. The wood was still green, but it was a darker green than before; and in many places red and yellow leaves glowed among the green ones. The sun was tired after his hot work in the summer, and went early to bed. At night Winter was stealing about among the trees to see if his time was not soon coming. When he found a flower, he gallantly kissed it, saying,--"What! are you here still? I am charmed to meet you. Please stay where you are. I am a good old man, and would not harm a cat." But the flower shuddered at his kiss, and the transparent dewdrop that hung from its petal froze to ice at the instant.