lived in the sky.

Their father was the Sun.

The Moon was their mother.

Usually they were very good little children.

They liked to brighten the sky.

But one night their mother called to them to come to their work.

So.

They came very slowly.

They did not shine when she told them to do

What do

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you think old Mother Moon did? She called up from the earth some good little

stars.

They were only flowers on earth.

But they did the very best that they could. So they were changed into stars in the sky. The naughty stars felt themselves fallingfalling-falling.

At last they reached the earth.

They cried, and cried, and cried.

For they were lonely, and very sorry for what they had done.

At last they fell asleep.

In the morning the Sun came.

He shone so brightly that everything woke. Even his little children, the stars, rubbed open their eyes.

Then they began to cry again.

For they remembered how naughty they had been.

Their father, the Sun, felt sorry for them. So he told them they might shine on the earth.

So now the stars shine in heaven at night. And the dandelions shine in the grass during the day.

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I look like this.

さむ

My leaves make a little rosette.

But in the grass I am quite different.
Then my leaves reach upwards.

If I did not make a rosette of myself in the sand what would happen?

Why, other plants would try to grow in the

same place.

We would have to divide the food.

There would not be enough for any of us.

And perhaps we would all die.

But suppose that I should make a rosette of myself in the grass?

Then it would be very bad for the grass.

I should shade it so that it could not grow.

Or else it would be very bad for me.

For the Sun could not find me if the grass

did grow.

And we plants must have plenty of light.

Here I am again!
Once I was yellow.

My stem was short.

I shone like a star in the green grass.
The bees came to visit me on sunny days.
On rainy days and at night I slept.

This was to keep the honey nice for the bees
One day the Sun called me, as usual.

But I did not wake up.

I hid my head.

For I was no longer beautiful.

But look at me now.

My stem is long.

I was never so tall before.

Look at my head.

It is covered with lovely white hair.
It must be that I am an old man.

These white hairs must be seeds.

Look at them.

Are they not like balloons?

Some day West Wind will call them.