In the midst of the valley stood the Prince of Autumn, with his horn in his hand. But none saw him.
Then the crow flew out of the wood on flapping wings and screamed:
“Past! Past! How can you care to talk of those old things? It’s all past! Past! Past!”
Echo sang from the hills:
“Past! Past! Past!”
And Echo whispered in the rushes and hummed in the river and sounded in all that lived in the land. They all then and there understood that summer was over. They stopped in the middle of their stories and listened and chimed in:
“Past! Past! Past!”
And suddenly they all saw the Prince of Autumn, as he stood there in the midst of them, in his motley cloak. They stared at him with frightened eyes and at one another.
But he put his horn to his mouth and blew till it rang over the valley:
Autumn’s horn blew a lusty chime,