When the new grass, which lay down below in the earth, heard this, it at once began to sprout² and peeped out gaily³ between the old, yellow straw. For the grass is always in an immense hurry.

 

Now the anemones⁴ in between the trees had also heard the lapwing’s cry, but refused on any account to appear above the earth.

 

“You mustn’t believe the lapwing,” they whispered to one another. “He is a flighty customer, whom one can’t trust. He always comes too early and starts calling at once. No, we will wait quite quietly till the starling and the swallow come. They are sensible, sober people, who are not to be taken in and who know what they are about.”

 

And the starlings came.

 

They sat down on a twig⁵ outside their summer villa⁶ and looked about them.

 

“Too early, as usual,” said Mr. Starling. “Not a green leaf and not a fly, except an old tough one of last year, not worth opening one’s beak⁷ for.”

 

Mrs. Starling said nothing, but looked none too cheerful either.

 

“If we had only remained in our snug⁸ winter-quarters beyond the mountains!” said Mr. Starling. He was angry because his wife did not answer, for he was so cold that he thought a little discussion might do him good. “But it’s your fault, just as last year. You’re always in such a terrible hurry to go to the country.”

 

“If I’m in a hurry, I know the reason why,” said Mrs. Starling. “And it would be a shame for you if you didn’t know too, for they are your eggs as well as mine.”

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