“And again the fir trees bowed to let him pass, and swayed from side to side, and the great branches creaked and moaned and flung themselves about in a desperate kind of way; but the leaves played sweet music. It was their fashion whenever the wind blew.
“‘I think we shall have snow,’ said the tallest of the fir trees, looking over the heads of his companions.
“‘The sky is very clear,’ remarked a very small and inexperienced fir, who was so short he could not see much of anything.
“‘Yes,’ said the tall one, ‘so you think; but there is a great deal of sky besides that which is over our heads; and I can see the wind gathering handfuls of snow-clouds, which he will fling about us presently.’
“‘Yes,’—repeated the tall fir, with another graceful bend—‘I see them—they are coming.’
“The evergreens were all sorry to hear this, for nothing depressed them so much as snow; the rain they could generally shake off,—at least if it didn’t freeze too hard.
“As for the beeches, they said if that was the case they must put off their summer clothes directly. And one little beech, with a great effort, did succeed in shaking off half-a-dozen green leaves the next time the wind came that way.
“‘You need not hurry yourselves,’ said the tall fir—‘this is only an early storm—the winter will not come yet. I can still see the sun for a few minutes every day.’