the fly stepped on it, and he shut up his little fist so quickly he
caught the fly in the hollow between the palm and his fingers. The fly
went buzz, and rushed to get out, but Guido laughed, so the fly buzzed
again, and just told the grass, and the grass told the bushes, and
everything knew in a moment, and Guido never heard another word all that
day. Yet sometimes now they all knew something about him, they would go
on talking. You see, they all rather petted and spoiled him. Next, if
Guido did not hear them conversing, the fern said he must touch a little
piece of grass and put it against his cheek, or a leaf, and kiss it, and
say, "Leaf, leaf, tell them I am here."

Now, while he was lying down, and the tip of the rushes touched his foot,
he remembered this, so he moved the rush with his foot and said, "Rush,
rush, tell them I am here." Immediately there came a little wind, and the
wheat swung to and fro, the oak-leaves rustled, the rushes bowed, and the
shadows slipped forwards and back again. Then it was still, and the
nearest wheat-ear to Guido nodded his head, and said in a very low tone,
"Guido, dear, just this minute I do not feel very happy, although the
sunshine is so warm, because I have been thinking, for we have been in
one or other of these fields of your papa's a thousand years this very
year. Every year we have been sown, and weeded, and reaped, and garnered.
Every year the sun has ripened us and the rain made us grow; every year
for a thousand years."

"What did you see all that time?" said Guido.

"The swallows came," said the Wheat, "and flew over us, and sang a little
sweet song, and then they went up into the chimneys and built their
nests."