By Carl Ewald It was a beautiful, fruitful season. Rain and sunshine came by turns just as it was best for the corn. As soon as ever the farmer began to think that things were rather dry, you might depend upon it that next day it would rain. And when he thought that he had had rain enough, the clouds broke at once, just as if they were under his command. So the farmer was in a good humour, and he did not grumble as he usually does. He looked pleased and cheerful as he walked over the field with his two boys. "It will be a splendid harvest this year," he said. "I shall have my barns full, and shall make a pretty penny. And then Jack and Will shall have some new trousers, and I'll let them come with me to market." "If you don't cut me soon, farmer, I shall sprawl on the ground," said the Rye, and she bowed her heavy ear quite down towards the earth. The farmer could not hear her talking, but he could see what was in her mind, and so he went home to fetch his scythe. "It is a good thing to be in the service of man," said the Rye. "I can be quite sure that all my grain will be well cared for. Most of it will go to the mill: not that that proceeding is so very enjoyable, but in that way it will be made into beautiful new bread, and one must put up with something for the sake of honour. The rest the farmer will save, and sow next year in his field." At the side of the field, along the hedge, and the bank above the ditch, stood the weeds. There were dense clumps of them--Thistle and Burdock, Poppy and Harebell, and Dandelion; and all their heads were full of seed. It had been a fruitful year for them also, for the sun shines and the rain falls just as much on the poor weed as on the rich porn. "No one comes and mows _us_ down and carries us to a barn," said the Dandelion, and he shook his head, but very cautiously, so that the seeds should not fall before their time. "But what will become of all our children?" "It gives me a headache to think about it," said the Poppy. "Here I stand with hundreds and hundreds of seeds in my head, and I haven't the faintest idea where I shall drop them." "Let us ask the Rye to advise us," answered the Burdock. And so they asked the Rye what they should do. "When one is well off, one had better not meddle with other people's business," answered the Rye. "I will only give you one piece of advice: take care you don't throw your stupid seed on to the field, for then you will have to settle accounts with _me_." This advice did not help the wild flowers at all, and the whole day they stood pondering what they should do. When the sun set they shut up their petals and went to sleep; but the whole night through they were dreaming about their seed, and next morning they had found a plan.