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You have no reason for getting so angry just because I asked you who you are." The Mist let go of her again. "Who am I?" she said. "You could not understand even if I told you." "Try," said the Night-Violet. "I am the dewdrop on the flower, the cloud in the sky, and the mist on the meadow," said the Mist. "I beg your pardon," said the Night-Violet. "Would you mind saying that again?
I longed so much to see them again that I stole up to the surface, and lay down in the sunshine all amongst the white water-lilies and their great green leaves. But, ugh! how the sun burnt me there on the lake I It was scarcely bearable. Bitterly did I regret that I had not stopped down below." "I can't say this part of your story is very amusing," said the Night-Violet.
When you shake us off we shall sink deeper and deeper till we reach the spring we came from that is, if some root or other does not snap us up on the way. And so the journey goes on. Down the brook, out into the lake, up into the air, down again to the earth " "Stop!" said the Night-Violet. "If I listen to you any more, I shall become quite sea-sick." Now the frog began to stir.
"I asked you who you were," said the Night-Violet. "And as you don't answer me, I conclude that you are a rude person." "I will now conclude you" said the Mist. And then she spread herself round the Night-Violet, so that her petals were dashed with wet. "Oh, oh!" cried the Night-Violet. "Keep your fingers to yourself, my friend. I have a feeling as if I had been dipped in the pond.
"I am still here," said the Dewdrop that hung on its stalk. But the Night-Violet shook herself peevishly. "You may stuff children with that nonsense," she said. "As for me, I don't believe a word of your whole story. It is as weak as water." Then the Sun laughed and said, "You are quite right there!" By Carl Ewald "Peeweet! peeweet!" cried the Plover, as he flew over the bog in the wood.
I flew high up into the air, and there I met many of my sisters, who had been just as eager for novelty as myself, and had had the same fate. We drifted across the sky, for, you see, we had become clouds." "I am not sure I do see," said the Night-Violet. "The thing sounds incredible." "But it is true all the same," answered the Mist "And let me tell you what happened then.
"But when are you going to tell me how you came to turn into mist?" asked the Night-Violet impatiently. "I know all about the underground spring. When the air is quite still, I can hear it murmur from where I stand." The Mist lifted herself a little and took a turn round the meadow.
He wanted rain so much for his crops, he stood there hugely delighted, and did not in the least mind getting wet. But otherwise we really did make quite a sensation." "Oh! so you are the rain as well?" said the Night-Violet. "I must say you have plenty to do." "Yes, I'm never idle," said the Mist. "All the same, I have not yet heard how you became mist," said the Night-Violet.
"Isn't the Mist soon coming?" "Here it is!" said the Mist, and dropped down once more on the flower, so that it nearly had the breath squeezed out of it. "Ough! ough!" shrieked the Night-Violet. "Upon my word, you are the most ill-natured person I have ever known. Move off, and go on with your story, since it must be so."
Wind of the morning! up with you, you sluggard, and drive the foul Mists away." The Morning Wind came over the meadow, and away went the Mists. And at the very same moment the first rays of the Sun fell right on the Night-Violet. "Heyday!" said the flower. "We have got the Sun already, so I had better make haste and shut up. Where in the world has the Mist gone to?"