If after a storm you go through a field in which buckwheat is growing, you will see that it has become quite black, as if it had been burned. I will tell you the why and wherefore, as I heard it from the sparrow, who heard it from the lips of an old willow-tree that dwelt near a field of corn and buckwheat and is there still. The corn was glad to be alive and grateful too, for the fuller his ears were the lowlier he bent as if in humble thankfulness. The proud buckwheat, however, held his head high and erect.

"I have as many golden ears as the corn," he said, "and am far prettier. My flowers are as lovely as the apple blossom. Have you ever seen anything lovelier than I am, old willow-tree?" The willow-tree only nodded, as much as to say, "That I have."

"That stupid tree!" said the buckwheat. 'He is so old that the grass is growing out of his body!'

Just then a great storm arose. All the flowers of the field folded their petals and bent down their little heads. The buckwheat alone stood erect and proud. "Bend your head as we do," said the flowers. "I will not bow," said the buckwheat.

"Close your flowers and fold your leaves," said the old willow-tree. "Do not look up at the lightning, for you will see right into heaven itself. Even men are blinded if they look; what then would happen to us, who are but weeds of the ground, if we dared to do so?"

"Weeds of the ground!" said the buckwheat scornfully; "I will look up into heaven itself." The buckwheat in his pride looked upward. For a moment the world seemed to be in flames.

When thew storm had passed over, how sweet everything was after the rain! The flowers breathed again, and the corn waved in the wind. But the buckwheat lay on the ground all withered and charred. The old willow-tree shook his head in the wind and big drops fell from his leaves. It was as if he wept. The sparrows chirped: "Why do you weep? Do you not breathe the fragrance of flowers and leaves? Why do you weep, old willow-tree?" Then the willow-tree told them what had happened to the proud buckwheat and I who tell you now heard it all from the sparrows one evening when I asked them for a story.