The Little Fairy was right. The Goblin was sorry when it was too late, and the silver thistle swayed in the breeze. It tried to tell the breeze it was sorry for telling tales, but even the breeze did not wish to listen to a prickly thistle, so there it had to bloom unloved and alone the rest of its life.
DAME CRICKET'S STORY
Dame Cricket
"Come, children, it is time to get up," said Dame Cricket to her ten little crickets.
"Hurry, now, and take your bath and put on your little black caps and your little brown suits. The sun has almost gone down over the hill and the birds will soon be asleep."
But the little crickets snuggled under the bedclothes just as if they did not hear their mother's words.
"Come, come," she said, a few minutes later, "you will sleep all night if you don't hurry. Some of our cousins are already singing, and it will soon be dark."