“It’s like this,” said the Wheat in weary tones. “I can’t rock these children to sleep up here. It’s too light, and too draughty. They must be put to bed in the earth, as I was. I’m sure it’s the proper place for them.” As the Wheat spoke, all the little grains fell suddenly fast asleep.
“Well, I’m not a nurse,” said the Dormouse, rather grumpily, because he had been disturbed. “And I can’t climb your stalk and fetch them down, either.”
“You must bite my stalk right through,” said the Wheat, “so that we can all lie down together.”
“Oh, that will hurt you dreadfully!” cried the little Elf-man.
“Then it will have to hurt, that’s all,” said the Wheat. “It’s the only thing to do. Be quick!”
The little Elf-man threw his arms round the Wheat’s yellow-stalk, and wept. But the Dormouse, with his sharp little teeth, bit through the stalk, just where it came out of the ground. The Wheat gave one great rock—and one sigh—and SNAP!—down it came. All the little grains tumbled out of their cradles, and rolled into chinks of the soil.
The tall Wheat, as it lay in the earth, said “Thank you!” in a husky voice to the Dormouse, and “Good-bye!” to the little Elf-man. The wind blew it away that night, and nobody ever saw it again.
“Where’s the Barley?” asked the Dormouse next day. But the poor Barley was quite shrivelled up.
The little Elf-man was sad for nearly a week. But when all the little grains woke up the following spring, he had a jollier time than ever.