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Updated: May 21, 2025
The old wood said nothing to this, for at that very moment she was finished; and so, of course, my story is finished too. Somewhere in the wood, quite close to one another, lived a little company of good friends. There was the sheep's-scabious, who looked as if she had something on her head, but had not, and the bell-flower, who was so blue and modest.
"Else it will be all up with every one of us." Next morning early, the wind came stealing along. He came quite slowly, for he too was tired of the intolerable dry heat; but he had to go his rounds for all that. "Dear Wind," said the sheep's-scabious. "Bring us a little cloud, or we shall all be dead." "There is no cloud," said the wind. "That's not true, Wind," said the linnet.
"I don't understand it either," said the wind. "But I do it!" Then he went down. And the friends stood and hung their heads and were at their wits' end: "There is nothing for it but to die," said the sheep's-scabious. "If I have lived through the winter," said the hazel-bush, "I suppose I can stand this. But it's very hard."
"And I understand that it is all up with a poor sheep's-scabious," said the sheep's-scabious and died then and there. Then night came and all thought that it would be their last. But, suddenly, the bell-flower raised her aching head and listened. She thought she heard a sound as when a drop falls ... now came another ... it smacked down upon a leaf ... and another ... and another....
And the bell-flower and the sheep's-scabious, who had never lived through the winter, wondered if it could really be worse than this. And the linnet dreamt of the south, where he spent the winter; and the blades of grass had quite thrown up the game. "Can't your branches reach up to the sun?" asked the sheep's-scabious of the hazel-bush.
When she complained of not being well, the sheep's-scabious and the bell-flower said that it was just the same with them. So did the blades of grass, but that did not count, for they always agreed with any one they were talking to. The moss said nothing, but that did not signify either, for nobody asked him. "We want rain," said the hazel-bush. "There's nothing else the matter.
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