"
Then the milkweed and the mullein-stalk bowed very gravely and
respectfully to the little dandelions, and said,--
"Yes, we see. Even such wee things as you have your duties, and we are
sorry you are so weary."
So the milkweed whispered to the breeze that the dandelions were too
warm, and begged it to help them; but the breeze murmured very gently,--
"I don't know what is the matter with me, dear milkweed, but I am so
faint, so faint, I think I shall die."
And sure enough, the next day the little breeze had died, and then they
knew how they missed him, even though he had been so weak for the last
few days; for the sun glared down fiercely, and the meadow thought it
was angry, and was so frightened it grew feverish and parched with very
dread.
"We wish our parasols were larger," sighed the toadstools; "but they
are so small that, try as we may, we cannot get them to cast a large
shadow, and now the breeze has died we have no messenger. If only one
knew how to get word to the clouds!"
But the clouds had done such steady duty through the spring that they
thought they were entitled to a holiday, and had gone to the
mountain-tops, where they were resting calmly, feeling very grand among
such an assembly of crowned heads.
Meanwhile the meadow grew browner and browner, and its pretty dress was
being scorched so that by and by no one would have recognized it for
the gay thing it had been a week ago.
Pages:
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90