"I think the wind is about right," said the hen; and she spread her
wings and ran out of the poultry-yard. And she ran fluttering out on
to the road and some way down it until she came to a garden.
At evening she came back panting.
And in the poultry-yard she told the poultry how she had gone South
as far as the high road, and saw the great world's traffic going by,
and came to lands where the potato grew, and saw the stubble upon
which men live, and at the end of the road had found a garden, and
there were roses in it--beautiful roses!--and the gardener himself was
there with his braces on.
"How extremely interesting," the poultry said, "and what a really
beautiful description!"
And the Winter wore away, and the bitter months went by, and the
Spring of the year appeared, and the swallows came again.
"We have been to the South," they said, "and the valleys beyond
the sea."
But the poultry would not agree that there was a sea in the South:
"You should hear our hen," they said.
WIND AND FOG
"Way for us," said the North Wind as he came down the sea on an
errand of old Winter.
And he saw before him the grey silent fog that lay along the tides.
"Way for us," said the North Wind, "O ineffectual fog, for I am
Winter's leader in his age-old war with the ships. I overwhelm
them suddenly in my strength, or drive upon them the huge seafaring
bergs.
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