A YOUNG man who had been a great spendthrift, and had run through
all the money he had inherited, and even sold all his outer clothing
except his cloak, saw a Swallow skimming over the meadows in the early
springtime and twittering gayly. Believing that summer was really come,
he sold his cloak also.
The next day there happened to be a severe frost, and, shivering
himself, he found the Swallow lying frozen and stiff upon the ground.
“Unhappy bird,” he said, “had you not come before your time, I should
not now be so wretched, and you might have escaped your fate. A single
swallow does not make a summer.”