III
In the morning the tree had leaves of glass.
“Now I am happy,” said the pine tree.
Just then the wind blew the tree.
It blew all the leaves off the tree.
They fell down and were broken.
“Oh! My pretty glass leaves,” said the poor tree.
“See! They are all broken.
I do not like leaves of glass.
I wish I had green leaves.”
Again night came.
The little pine tree went to sleep.