Meanwhile the little Barley-corn under the loose sod was getting on rather badly. You see, it had not been tucked cosily into the soil like the Wheat. It was like a poor little vagrant with no proper place to sleep in. It grew, but very slowly.
“Hullo! is that you?” said the Dormouse, peeping in one day under the sod; “are you awake?”
“I don’t think I’ve been properly to sleep,” said the Barley-corn.
“Make haste and grow a little faster, and come out of that,” said the Dormouse. “I should be rather fond of you if I thought you were taking trouble to get on.”
“I think if any one were fond of me,” whispered the Barley-corn, “I should grow.”
But the Dormouse was not listening.
At last a sunbeam came along the field—several sunbeams, in fact. They were quite bright and warm, and the little Elf-man, who had kept close indoors all the bad weather, opened his door and sat on the threshold basking. Then the sunbeams burrowed right down into the earth, and said: “Hurry up! Is anybody here for out-of-doors?”
You could not have heard them; their voices were not like ours. But the grain of Wheat heard them. At once it threw off the last rags of its tattered old cloak; and it was as clean and white as possible underneath. Then it pushed up its little green head, with a two-horned peaked cap on, and looked out curiously upon the world.
Everything was clear, and warm, and sunny, and perfectly delightful. And there was the little Elf-man sitting on his threshold, in a one-horned peaky green cap.