the north wind blew and the nights were frosty. In the middle of
the day the sun shone so warmly that a few big flies began to buzz
around, and the lark proclaimed, on its word of honor, that it was
the height of summer.

But the lark is the most untrustworthy creature under heaven.
However much it might freeze at night, the frost was forgotten at
the first sunbeam; and the lark soared, singing, high over the
heath, until it bethought itself that it was hungry.

Then it sank slowly down in wide circles, singing, and beating time
to its song with the flickering of its wings. But a little way from
the earth it folded its wings and dropped like a stone down into
the heather.

The lapwing tripped with short steps among the hillocks, and nodded
its head discreetly. It had no great faith in the lark, and
repeated its wary "Bi litt! Bi litt!" [Note: "Wait a bit! Wait a
bit!" Pronounced _Bee leet_] A couple of mallards lay snuggling in
a marsh-hole, and the elder one was of opinion that spring would
not come until we had rain.

Far on into May the meadows were still yellow; only here and there
on the sunny leas was there any appearance of green. But if you lay
down upon the earth you could see a multitude of little shoots--
some thick, others as thin as green darning-needles--which thrust
their heads cautiously up through the mould. But the north wind
swept so coldly over them that they turned yellow at the tips, and
looked as if they would like to creep back again.