And some of the anemones did as she told them. But others still stretched their heads into the air, and grew so ugly and stalky that it was horrid to see them.
"Fie for shame!" they cried to the beech leaves. "It is you who are killing us."
But the beech shook his long boughs and let his brown husks drop down to the ground.
"Wait till the autumn, you little simpletons," he said, laughing. "Then you shall see."
The anemones could not understand what he meant. But when they had stretched themselves till they were as tall as they could be, they broke off and withered.
The summer was over, and the farmer had carried his corn home from the field.
The wood was still green, but it was a darker green than before; and in many places red and yellow leaves glowed among the green ones. The sun was tired after his hot work in the summer, and went early to bed.
At night Winter was stealing about among the trees to see if his time was not soon coming. When he found a flower, he gallantly kissed it, saying,—
"What! are you here still? I am charmed to meet you. Please stay where you are. I am a good old man, and would not harm a cat."