"See me fly the kite," he called to the rabbits.
He puffed out his cheeks and blew and blew.
But the leaf only fluttered and fluttered because the branch held the string fast.
North Wind blew and blew, but he could not make the kite fly away.
"I don't like to fly kites this morning," he said. "I am going to pile some more leaves under the oak tree."
So he danced over the ground, and through the woods, singing a gay little song:
"Come, little leaves," said the wind one day.
"Come o'er the meadow with me and play.
"Put on your dresses of red and gold,
"For summer has gone and the days grow cold."