wind rose, and whipped the poor brook until it grew quite white with
foam and fear.

Then Marie knew how naughty she had been, and she made no complaint at
her punishment. In fact, she bore it so meekly that after the wind had
quieted down and the stormy flurry was over, she began to sing her
quiet little song again, although she was very tired of it by this
time, and was so meek and patient that all the meadow whispered:

"Good little thing now,--good little thing!" and then they told her how
everything in the world, no matter how small it is, has a duty to
perform, and should do its task cheerfully and gladly, and not weep and
complain when it thinks matters are not going in the right way, but try
to keep on with its task and relief will come.

Marie listened like an obedient little brook as she was, and was just
going to float another merry little bubble to the little reeds below
when she heard a voice say, "Give me my bed; I want it," and lo! there
was the real brook come back. She pushed Marie aside and hurt her,
though she seemed so gentle.

Marie tried to rise, but it was difficult; her limbs were stiff lying
all this time in the meadow, her eyes were weary gazing at the sky, and
her voice hoarse with the song she had been forced to sing.

She tried again, and this time she succeeded; and behold! there she was
on the door-step, and the sun was going down.