The Green Meadows lay peaceful and still. Mother Moon, sailing high
overhead, looked down upon them and smiled and smiled, flooding them
with her silvery light. All day long the Merry Little Breezes of Old
Mother West Wind had romped there among the asters and goldenrod. They
had played tag through the cat rushes around the Smiling Pool. For
very mischief they had rubbed the fur of the Field Mice babies the
wrong way and had blown a fat green fly right out of Grandfather Frog's
mouth just as his lips came together with a smack. Now they were
safely tucked in bed behind the Purple Hills, and so they missed the
midnight feast at the foot of the Lone Pine.