the sun had just set.

the frog was croaking his even-song, which took so long that there seemed to be no end to it. the bee crept into her hive and the little children cried because it was bed-time. the flowers closed their petals and bent their heads, the bird hid his beak under his wing and the stag lay down to rest in the tall, soft grass of the glade.

the bells of the village-church rang in the night and, when that was done, the old sexton went off home, chatted a little with the villagers who were taking their evening stroll or standing at their doors smoking a pipe, bade them good-night and shut his door.

by and by, it was quite still and darkness fell. there was still a light in the parsonage and at the doctor’s. but at the farm-houses it was dark, for the farmers rise early in the summer and therefore have to go early to bed.

then the stars shone forth in the sky and the moon rose higher and higher. a dog barked down in the village. but he was certainly dreaming, for there was really nothing to bark at.