The Anemones
"Peeweet! peeweet!" cried the plover, as he flew over the bog in the wood. "My Lady Spring is coming! I can tell it from the feeling in my legs and wings."
When the new grass that lay below in the earth heard that, it pushed up at once and peeped out merrily from among the old yellow grass of last year. For the grass is always in a great hurry.
The anemones in among the trees also heard the plover's cry; but they, on the contrary, would not come up yet on any account.
"You must not believe the plover," they whispered to one another. "He is a gay young spark who is not to be depended upon. He always comes too early, and begins crying out at once. No, we will wait quietly till the starlings and swallows come. They are sensible, steady-going people who know what's what, and don't go sailing with half a wind."
And then the starlings came. They perched on the stumps in front of their summer villa, and looked about them.