“No, allow me, it’s my turn,” said the rain. “You’ve stood by the corner long enough and blown off everything you could.”

“Is that the thanks I get,” said the wind, “for turning all those umbrellas inside out, in your honor? Actually breaking them, when people haven’t wanted to have anything to do with you?”

“I will tell a story,” said the sunshine. “Be quiet!” It was said with brilliance and majesty, so the wind lay down flat, but the rain shook the wind and said, “And we have to tolerate this! She always breaks in, this Madame Sunshine. We don’t want to listen! It’s not worth the trouble to listen.”

But the sunshine told this:

“A swan flew over the rolling sea. Its every feather shone like gold. One feather fell down on a big merchant ship that was gliding by at full sail. The feather fell into the curly hair of a young man, the supervisor of the wares. They called him ‘Supercargo.’ The feather from the bird of luck touched his forehead and became a pen in his hand. Soon he became a rich merchant who could buy spurs of gold and change gold plates to a noble’s shield. I’ve actually reflected myself in it,” said the sunshine.

“The swan flew further across a green meadow, where a little shepherd, a boy of seven, was lying in the shade of an old tree, the only one there. And in his flight the swan kissed one of the tree’s leaves. It fell into the boy’s hand, and the one leaf turned to three, then ten, and finally became a whole book. In it he read about the wonders of nature, about his mother tongue, and about faith and knowledge. At bedtime he lay the book under his head so that he wouldn’t forget what he had read, and the book led him to school, to the table of knowledge. I have read his name amongst the scholars,” said the sunshine.

“The swan flew into the lonely forest, and rested there on the quiet dark lakes where the water lilies and the wild forest apples grow, and where the cuckoo and wood pigeon live.

“A poor woman was gathering firewood of broken branches, and carried them on her back. She had her little child by her breast and was walking home. She saw the golden swan, the swan of good fortune, lift off from the reed-covered shore. What was that shining there? A golden egg. She held it to her breast, and it was warm. There must have been life in the egg. Yes, there was pecking inside the shell! She felt it and thought it was her own heart beating.

“At home in her poor hovel she took the golden egg out. ‘Tick, tick!’ it said, as if it were an expensive gold watch, but it was an egg with life inside. The egg cracked, and a little swan, with feathers as of purest gold, stuck its head out. It had four rings around its neck, and since the poor woman had four sons, three at home and the fourth that she had carried with her in the forest, she immediately realized that there was a ring for each child. As she grasped that—and them—the little golden bird flew away.

“She kissed each ring and had each child kiss one of the rings, and laid them by the children’s hearts and then on their fingers.

“I saw it!” said the sunshine. “And I saw what happened afterwards.

“One boy sat in the clay pit, took a lump of clay in his hand, turned it with his fingers, and it became a statue of Jason,¹ who had taken the golden fleece.

“The second boy ran out in the meadow where the flowers were blooming in every imaginable color. He picked a handful and squeezed them so tightly that the nectar sprayed into his eyes and wet the ring. His hands and thoughts were itching with it, and some years later they were talking in the big city about the great painter.

“The third boy held the ring so tightly in his mouth that it sang out, an echo from the heart. Thoughts and feelings arose in strains, arose like singing swans, and dived like swans into the deep sea, the deep sea of thought. He became a master of music, and every land can now think, ‘He belongs to me!’

“The fourth little one—well, he was an outcast. They said he was batty, had the ‘pip.’ He should be given pepper and whipped butter, like the sick chickens were. They said those words, ‘pepper and whipped butter’ with the stress on the whipped. And that’s what he got, but from me he got a sunshine’s kiss,” said the sunshine. “He got ten kisses instead of one. He had a poetic nature and was both knocked about and kissed, but he had the lucky ring from good fortune’s golden swan. His thoughts flew like golden butterflies, the symbol of immortality.”

“That was really a long story,” said the wind.

“And boring!” said the rain. “Blow on me, so I can freshen up.”

The wind blew, and the sunshine said:

“The swan of good fortune flew over the deep bay, where the fishermen had cast their nets. The poorest of them was thinking of getting married, and he did get married.

“The swan brought him a piece of amber. Amber pulls things towards it, and this pulled hearts to it. Amber is the loveliest incense. There was a fragrance as of a church, a scent from God’s nature. The two young people experienced the happiness of home life, contentment in straitened circumstances, and so their life was a whole sunshine story.”

“Can’t we break this off now?” said the wind. “Now the sunshine has talked long enough. I’ve been so bored.”

“Me too,” said the rain.

“And what do the rest of us who have heard the stories say?”

“We say: ‘That’s the end!’”