VERY often, after a violent thunder-storm, a field of

　　buckwheat appears blackened and singed, as if a flame of fire

　　had passed over it. The country people say that this

　　appearance is caused by lightning; but I will tell you what

　　the sparrow says, and the sparrow heard it from an old

　　willow-tree which grew near a field of buckwheat, and is there

　　still. It is a large venerable tree, though a little crippled

　　by age. The trunk has been split, and out of the crevice grass

　　and brambles grow. The tree bends for-ward slightly, and the

　　branches hang quite down to the ground just like green hair.

　　Corn grows in the surrounding fields, not only rye and barley,

　　but oats,-pretty oats that, when ripe, look like a number of

　　little golden canary-birds sitting on a bough. The corn has a

　　smiling look and the heaviest and richest ears bend their

　　heads low as if in pious humility. Once there was also a field

　　of buckwheat, and this field was exactly opposite to old

　　willow-tree. The buckwheat did not bend like the other grain,

　　but erected its head proudly and stiffly on the stem. "I am as

　　valuable as any other corn," said he, "and I am much

　　handsomer; my flowers are as beautiful as the bloom of the

　　apple blossom, and it is a pleasure to look at us. Do you know

　　of anything prettier than we are, you old willow-tree?"

　　And the willow-tree nodded his head, as if he would say,

　　"Indeed I do."

　　But the buckwheat spread itself out with pride, and said,

　　"Stupid tree; he is so old that grass grows out of his body."

　　There arose a very terrible storm. All the field-flowers

　　folded their leaves together, or bowed their little heads,

　　while the storm passed over them, but the buckwheat stood

　　erect in its pride. "Bend your head as we do," said the

　　flowers.

　　"I have no occasion to do so," replied the buckwheat.

　　"Bend your head as we do," cried the ears of corn; "the

　　angel of the storm is coming; his wings spread from the sky

　　above to the earth beneath. He will strike you down before you

　　can cry for mercy."

　　"But I will not bend my head," said the buckwheat.

　　"Close your flowers and bend your leaves," said the old

　　willow-tree. "Do not look at the lightning when the cloud

　　bursts; even men cannot do that. In a flash of lightning

　　heaven opens, and we can look in; but the sight will strike

　　even human beings blind. What then must happen to us, who only

　　grow out of the earth, and are so inferior to them, if we

　　venture to do so?"

　　"Inferior, indeed!" said the buckwheat. "Now I intend to

　　have a peep into heaven." Proudly and boldly he looked up,

　　while the lightning flashed across the sky as if the whole

　　world were in flames.

　　When the dreadful storm had passed, the flowers and the

　　corn raised their drooping heads in the pure still air,

　　refreshed by the rain, but the buckwheat lay like a weed in

　　the field, burnt to blackness by the lightning. The branches

　　of the old willow-tree rustled in the wind, and large

　　water-drops fell from his green leaves as if the old willow

　　were weeping. Then the sparrows asked why he was weeping, when

　　all around him seemed so cheerful. "See," they said, how the

　　sun shines, and the clouds float in the blue sky. Do you not

　　smell the sweet perfume from flower and bush? Wherefore do you

　　weep, old willow-tree?" Then the willow told them of the

　　haughty pride of the buckwheat, and of the punishment which

　　followed in consequence.

　　This is the story told me by the sparrows one evening when

　　I begged them to relate some tale to me.

　　THE END