"Now listen to me, Willow-Tree," said the oak. "On the whole I don't like you."
"I don't know that I ever did you any harm," said the willow-tree.
"Very likely," said the oak. "Only I thought you so arrogant ever since the time when you came the cutting over us. But never mind that now. I have felt most awfully sorry for you since I heard that you were about to become hollow. Take care, that's what I say. It's a terrible misfortune."
"I really don't know what to do to prevent it," said the willow-tree.
"No more do I," said the oak. "But I tell you for all that: take care. See if you can't get all the birds who visit you to scrape all the earth out of the hole in your head before it becomes too deep."
"I mustn't harm the dandelion," said the willow-tree. "Besides, I don't think there's any danger yet. My twigs are green and thriving and my roots are sucking pretty well. As long asthe root is sound, everything's sound: you know that as well as I do."
"Take care, that's all," said the oak. "You don't know what it means, but I do. I may as well tell you, I have an old hollow uncle."
"Have you?" said the willow-tree. "Yes, there's a tragedy in every family. You have your uncle and the poplars have me."
"You've no idea of the sort of life he leads," said the oak. "He's awfully old and awfully hollow. Yes, he's like you in a way, but ever so much worse. There's nothing left of him but a very thin shell and just a wretched twig or two in his top. Almost all his roots are dead, too. And he's always full of owls and bats and other vermin. It's a terrible life he leads."
"I'm very sorry to hear it," said the willow-tree.
"I merely say, look out!" said the oak.
And the years came and went and time passed, as it must and will pass.
The willow-tree became more and more decayed and the hole filled with earth and more customers arrived. One spring there was a dainty little sprout, which the tree welcomed under the impression that it was a dandelion.
"Hullo!" said the sprout. "What do you think I am?"
"I have the highest opinion of you," said the willow-tree. "But you are still so small. May I ask your name?"
"I am a strawberry-plant," said the sprout. "And one of the best. My own idea is that I am the equal of those which grow in the manor-garden. Just wait till I get my fruit: then we shall see."
"Goodness me!" said the willow-tree. "If I could only understand where you came from!"
Another sprout came, which proved to be the beginning of a black-currant-bush. A third came, which grew into a dear little mountain-ash. Every summer there were a couple of dandelions. The bees came and buzzed and sucked honey and flew away with it to their hives. The butterflies flitted from flower to flower, sipped a little honey here and there and ate it up. They knew they had to die, so there was no reason for saving it.
"It's wonderful!" said the willow-tree. "If only I knew where all this good fortune comes from!"
"Never mind about that: just take it as it comes," said the elder-bush.
"You will have a fine old age," said the wild rose-bush.
"You're getting hollower and hollower," said the oak. "Remember what I told you about my poor old uncle."
"He has gradually become quite weak-minded," said the nearest poplar.
"Quite weak-minded ... quite weak-minded ... weak-minded," whispered the poplars along the avenue.
The blackbird was the first who had visited the willow-tree and he returned several times each year. One day he came in a great state of fright and asked if he might hide up there. There was a horrid boy who had been shooting at him all the morning with his air-gun:
"I am really preserved at this time of the year," he said. "Butwhat does that brat of a boy care about that? And, if I must lose my life, I would rather be caught in a proper snare."
"I should have thought it would be better to be shot," said the willow-tree. "Then you're done with for good and all."
"I don't agree with you," said the blackbird. "While there's life there's hope. You can always hang on in the snare and struggle and feel that there may be a chance of escaping."
"Yes, indeed," said the willow-tree, pensively. "That's just my case. I also am caught in a trap and know that I must die soon, but I cling to life nevertheless. Well, I have now attained a blessed old age, as the wild rose said. If only I knew where all the dear creatures who grew in my top came from!"
"Well, I can tell you that," said the blackbird. "You may be sure that most of them come from me."
Then he described how fond he was of red berries of every kind. He resorted in particular to the garden of the manor-house, which was full of the nicest things. Then, when he sat and digested his food in the willow-tree, he usually left something behind him, something in the way of one seed or another.
"Is that true?" said the willow-tree. "Yes, of course it's true. So I really owe all my happiness to you!"
"Probably," said the blackbird and whistled with a very consequential air. "We all of us have our mission in this world, thank goodness.... But just look: as I live, there's a beautiful ripe strawberry!"
He ate the strawberry and said, "Hum!" and "Ha!" and "Ho!" for it was so nice:
"It's just as good as those which grow in the squire's own beds," he said. "But I almost think it has got a still nicer flavour by growing up here in you, you old Willow-Tree."
"My dear Blackbird," said the strawberry-plant, "you're often at the manor-house. Won't you do me the favour to tell the squire that I am growing up here?"
"That I will certainly not do," said the blackbird. "In the first place, nothing would induce me to tell any one else where a good berry grows. In the second place, I have been getting so stout and fat lately that I must be a bit careful. Otherwise, it might occur to the squire that strawberries taste twice as nice on top of roast blackbird."
"That's very tiresome," said the strawberry-plant. "I know that the squire has said he will eat no other berries than those which grow in our family; and there are so very few of us. I also heard a bird sing that he had come home from Italy; and I am sure that, if he knew I grew up here, he would himself climb up and pick my berries."
"Lord preserve us!" said the willow-tree. "Would the squire himself really climb into my top? That honour would be greater than I could bear!"
"It certainly would," said the oak. "For you are growing hollower every day. Your long branches are not so green this year as last. You are beginning to look more and more like my unhappy uncle. You're approaching your end, Willow-Tree."
"You may be right," said the willow-tree. "We must all undergo our lot. I myself feel that my shell is getting thinner and thinner; and it has holes in it, besides, in two places down below."
"Away with him!" said the nearest poplar. "He's a disgrace and a reproach to our family."
"Away with him!... Away ... away ... away!" whispered the poplars along the avenue.
Time passed and it was incredible that the old willow-tree should still be alive.
His bark had fallen off in great pieces and the holes below had joined in the middle, so that, one day, the fox was able to slip in at one and out at the other. The mice gnawed at the rotten wood. There were only three or four twigs left up above and they were so thin and leafless that it was a pitiful sight to see.
But the garden at the top thrived as it had never done before.
The strawberry-plant put out big flowers which turned into red heavy berries. The black-currant-bush had also grown up and was bearing her fruit. The dandelions shone yellow; and there was also a little blue violet and a scarlet pimpernel, who only opened her flower when the sun shone strongest at noon, and a tall spike of rye, swaying before the wind.
"Why, you're better off now than ever!" said the wild rose-bush. "Since you absolutely had to come to grief and lose your crown, you may well say that fate has been kind to you and made amends to you."
"That's just what I do say," said the willow-tree. "If only I can bear all this good fortune! I am getting thinner and thinner in my shell and every year I lose a twig or two."
"It will end badly," said the oak. "I warned you beforehand. Remember my poor old hollow uncle!"
"I daresay that it will end as it always ends," said the elder-bush. "Whether the end comes one way or another, it is the same for all of us. But I think the willow-tree has life left in him yet."
"There's nothing left to show that he belongs to the family," said the nearest poplar. "His own branches are withering more and more; and it is only strange twigs and leaves that he fans himself with. So that's all right. We sha'n't say a word about his belonging to us: hush!"
"Hush ... hush ... hush!" whispered the poplars along the avenue.
One afternoon the earth-worm crept up there. Hitherto, he had always kept down in the earth, for fear of the many birds about. He was the longest, stoutest, fattest earth-worm in the world.
"Hullo, my dear Earth-Worm, how are you?" said the willow-tree. "I knew you were there, but I have not had the pleasure of seeing you. I am glad you are doing so well in me. How did you come up here exactly?"
"To tell the truth, it was really the blackbird's fault," said the earth-worm. "He dropped me out of his beak. That is to say, he had only got half of me. The rest of me drew back into the ground. So I was only half a worm when I arrived."
"You're welcome all the same," said the willow-tree. "It makes no difference to me if you're whole or half. I myself have lost my crown and become no more than a wretched cripple. But are you all right again now?"
"Oh dear yes!" said the earth-worm. "I don't mind in theleast if they chip one end off me. It soon grows again, if only they leave me alone.... But do you know what sort of little sprout this is who is coming up here beside me, with such a funny thick hat on his head?"
"I don't know him," said the willow-tree. "I have become feeble with years and can't at once make out all that grows on me. Do you know him?"
"I should think I ought to!" said the earth-worm. "Why it was I who dragged him into the ground a couple of years ago. He was joined on to a leaf and stalk and I ate up both the leaf and the stalk, but I couldn't manage this chap. That wasn't so odd either, for he was an acorn. Now he has sprouted, he's a little oak."
"An oak!" said the willow-tree, overcome with respectful awe.
"He blew over here in the great storm of the autumn before last," said the earth-worm. "I remember it distinctly, because you were creaking so that I thought it would have been up with all of us."
"What's that you're saying?" said the oak on the little hillock in the fields. "Is one of my children growing on you?"
"Yes," said the old willow-tree. "It's really a little oak. That's a great honour for me."
"It's folly," said the oak. "He must be going to die."
"We all have to die," said the elder-bush.
One day the squire came walking down the avenue.
He had the keeper with him and his own two children, a little boy and a little girl. They had not been long at themanor-house and looked about them inquisitively, for everything was new to them.
"What on earth is that ugly old stump doing there?" asked the squire, pointing at the old willow-tree with his cane. "He's enough to spoil the whole avenue. See that you get rid of him to-morrow, keeper. It makes me quite ill to look at him."
For that happened to be his mood that day.
"Now it's coming," said the oak. "That's your death-warrant, you old Willow-Tree. Well, you won't be sorry. I think it must be better to make an end of it than to stand and get hollower day by day."
"We all cling to life," said the willow-tree sadly. "And what will become of my boarders?"
"They may be thankful that they lived so long," said the wild rose-bush.
"Let's first see what happens," said the elder-bush. "I have been through times that looked worse still and have escaped for all that."
"Thank goodness that's over!" said the poplar who stood nearest.
"Thank goodness!... Thank goodness!... Thank goodness!" whispered the poplars along the avenue.
Next morning the keeper came. He had merely an axe with him, for he thought it would only take a couple of blows to do away with the old, rotten willow-stump. Just as he was about to strike, his eyes fell upon the black-currant-bush in the top. The currants were big and ripe. He put out his hand, picked one of them and ate it:
"What a remarkable thing!" he said. "It's exactly like those in the manor-garden. Goodness knows how it got up there!"
'I WANT TO PICK SOME FOR MYSELF''I WANT TO PICK SOME FOR MYSELF'
"Keeper! Keeper!"
The squire's son came running down the avenue. He wanted to see the old willow-tree felled. The keeper told him about the black-currant-bush and picked a currant and gave it to him.
"Lift me up. I must pick some for myself," said the boy.
The keeper lifted him up. He pulled with both hands at the willow-twigs up there and pulled so hard that they snapped.
Then he caught hold of the tree's thin shell, which was so brittle that a big piece came off in each of his hands. But then he clapped his hands with surprise and delight and shouted:
"Keeper! Keeper! There's quite a garden up here. There are the loveliest strawberries beside the black-currant-bush ... and here's a little mountain-ash ... and a dear little oak ... and weeds, too ... five yellow dandelions ... and a spike of barley, keeper.... Oh, how glorious, how glorious! I say, I must show it to sissy ... and to father!"
"Hurry now and eat the strawberries," said the keeper. "For the trunk has to be cut down and then it's all up with the whole concern."
"Lift me down," said the boy, kicking and sprawling. Then, when he stood on the ground, "Don't you dare cut down that tree," he said. "Do you hear? Don't you just dare!"
"Ah, but I do dare!" said the keeper, smiling. "You yourself heard the squire tell me."
"I'm going to run and fetch father," said the boy. "And don't you dare touch the tree before I come back. If you do, trust me, I'll take my revenge on you when I'm squire myself one day!"
Then he ran up the avenue. The keeper sat down in the ditch and waited, for he thought that the wisest thing to do:
"The young rascal has the squire's temper," he said.
"What did I tell you?" said the elder-bush. "You should always listen to those who know."
"It's an awful tension to be in," said the willow-tree. "If only I don't go to pieces for sheer fright. As it is, the boy took a good pull at me; and Heaven knows I can't stand much more!"
"Now you must hold out until we see what happens," said the wild rose-bush. "I have never known anything so exciting."
"Nor I," said the oak. "But it can't end well, when you're hollow to start with."
Then the boy came back with the squire. The little chap pointed and told his story. The keeper rolled a stone up, so that the squire could stand on it and look at the willow-tree's top:
"Well, I never saw anything like it!" he said. "It's quite true: there's a regular garden up there. And my own strawberries, I do believe!"
He picked one and ate it:
"Um!" he said. "Why, that's the genuine flavour! I almost think they're even better than those in the garden."
"And is the tree to be cut down, father?"
"On no account!" said the squire. "It would be a thousand pities. Why, he's the most remarkable tree on the whole estate! See and have a hoop put round him at the top, keeper. And then put a railing round him, so that the cows can't get at him and do him harm. We'll keep this fine old willow-tree as long as we possibly can. I'm exceedingly fond of him."
For that happened to be his mood that day.
An iron hoop was put round the willow-tree's trunk at the top and a railing at the bottom. Every time the squire came driving along the avenue he stopped the carriage at the willow-tree:
"Yes, the avenue is very nice indeed," he said to his guests. "But they're only quite ordinary poplars. Now here I can show you something out of the common. Yes, I know it looks like an old willow-stump, but just come over here...."
They stepped out of the carriage and on to the stone, one after the other, and admired the garden in the willow-tree's top.
"If the hoop wasn't there, I should burst," said the willow-tree. "What an honour and what luck for a wretched cripple like me! Only think: the squire really climbed up and ate strawberries off me! And all the visitors to the manor-house are brought to look at me."
"It's incredible," said the oak. "It's just as though there were a premium on getting hollow."
"It's a romance," said the wild rose-bush. "I'll tell it to every bird that settles on me, so that it may be sung all over the world."
"It's exactly as I told you," said the elder-bush.
"When all is said and done, it was I, in a measure, who prepared the romance," said the blackbird. "But, honestly speaking, I prefer things as they were in the old days. Then one could sit here in peace and quiet. Now we run the risk every moment of somebody or other coming and sticking up his head and saying, 'Well, I never!' or 'Did you ever?' or 'O-oh!' or 'A-ah!'"
"Never in my born days have I known anything like it," said the nearest poplar. "Did you hear how the squire talked of his proud and stately poplars? We, who have stood guard along the road to his manor-house, summer and winter, year after year, all equally straight and still ... quite ordinary poplars, he called us! And then that disgusting, vulgar willow-tree!... That rotten old stump!... And he's a relation of ours into the bargain!... For shame!"
"For shame!... Shame!... Shame!" whispered the poplars along the avenue.
One winter's day, a storm came, till all the trees in the wood creaked and crashed. The wind howled and tore down the avenue and all the proud poplars swayed like rushes. The snow drifted till sky and earth became one.
"Now I can hold out no longer," said the old willow-tree.
Then he snapped, right down by his root. The iron hoop which he wore round his head went clattering down the frozen road. The railing tumbled over. The garden up at the top was scattered by the wind in every direction: the black-currant-bush and the strawberry-plant, the mountain-ash and the little oak, the dandelions and the violets all blew away; and nobody knows what has become of them since.
The earth-worm lay just below and wriggled:
"I can't stand this," he said. "Let them chop me into two ... into three.... But this is worse. The ground is as hard as iron: there's not a hole to creep into. And the frost bites my thin skin. Good-bye, all of you: I'm dying!"
In the spring, the stump of the willow-tree was cleared away. But the squire ordered that no new tree should be planted in its stead. Every time he drove past, he told the people with him about the curious old willow-tree that had had quite a garden in his hollow head.
And the wild rose-bush told it to the birds, who sang the story all over the world. The oak could never learn to understand itand the elder-bush said that he had understood it all the time. The blackbird was caught in a snare and eaten.
But the poplars, stately and indignant as ever, still stand and whisper along the avenue.
Just outside the fence of the keeper's garden stood a crab-apple-tree, with crooked branches and apples sour as vinegar.
She had once stood in the middle of a thorn-thicket. But the thorns had died and rotted away; and now the apple-tree stood quite alone in a little green glade.
She was old and ugly and small. She could only just peep over the hazel-hedge into the garden, at the orange-pippin-tree and the russet-apple-tree, who stood and gleamed in the autumn sun with their great red-and-yellow fruit and looked far more important than the crab-apple-tree.
Every morning, the keeper's dog came jogging round the fence to take a mouthful of fresh air and a little exercise. He had lost all his teeth and could see only with one eye. He always stopped for a bit when he came to the crab-apple-tree and rubbed himself against her:
"It's the fleas," said the dog.
"Pray don't mind me in the least," replied the apple-tree. "We have known each other since the days when you were a puppy and the keeper used to thrash you with his whip when you wouldn't obey. I am always delighted to do an old friend a service. By the way, you have plenty of apple-trees nearer at hand ... inthere, I mean, in the garden. Why don't you rub yourself against them?"
"Heaven forbid!" the dog. "All honour to the real apple-trees; they are right enough in their way; but you are so beautifully gnarled."
"I am the real apple-tree," said the tree, in an offended tone. "Those in there are only monsters, whom men have deformed for their own use. They grow where the keeper put them and let him pluck them when he pleases; I am wild and free and my own mistress."
The dog rubbed himself and shook his wise old head:
"You ought really to have entered men's service too, old friend," he said. "It's good and snug there. And what else is to become of old fogeys like you and me? Of course, we have to do what is required of us; but then we get what we want in return."
"Perhaps it's there you got your fleas?" asked the apple-tree, sarcastically. "For you certainly have all you want of them!"
But the dog had already jogged back into the garden and did not hear.
Soon after, a blackbird came flying and perched on one of the tree's thickest branches. He flapped his wings and then rubbed his beak against the branch.
"You're welcome," said the apple-tree.
She knew that the blackbird always did like that, after he had been eating, and she was a courteous tree, when no one offended her.
"Thank you," said the blackbird and went on rubbing his beak.
"You're working awfully hard to-day," said the tree.
"There's a stone on the side of my beak," said the blackbird. "It's there as if it were glued fast; and I can't get it off, however much I rub."
"What have you had to eat?"
"I had some beautiful white berries," said the blackbird. "I never tasted anything so good; and I am a judge of berries, as you know. It was somewhere ever so far away; and now I've been flying for a day and a half with this silly stone. Every moment, I've been trying to get it off.... Ah, there it goes, thank goodness! Now it's on you, you old Crab-Apple-Tree. You'll see, you will never get rid of it."
"Just let it be," said the apple-tree, gaily, "and don't bother about me. It'll take to its legs, right enough, when it begins to rain and blow."
The blackbird flew away and the crab-apple-tree stood sunk in her own old thoughts, with the stone on her branch. In the evening, it came on to rain violently and the stone slipped slowly down the wet branch, until it reached the underside.
"Now it will drop," thought the apple-tree.
But the stone did not drop. At night, a terrible storm broke loose and all the trees creaked and swayed to and fro. Inside the keeper's garden, the orange-pippins and the russets fell to the ground by the bushel. But the stone stuck where it was.
"Well, that's odd!" thought the crab-apple-tree.
And, when the dog came jogging along in the morning, the tree told him of the queer thing:
"What sort of a chap can it be?" she asked.
"I expect it's a flea," said the dog and rubbed himself. "One can never get rid of them. Does it hop all over you? And bite you?"
"Certainly not," replied the apple-tree. "Last night, it slipped down quite gently to the underside of the branch; and, for that matter, it does me no harm."
"Then it's not a flea," said the dog.
Autumn came and all the good apples in the garden were gathered and stored in the loft. There was no one who cared about the crab-apple-tree. Her apples remained on the branches till they fell to the ground, where they lay and rotted. But the tree was well-pleased with the state of things. She knew that little crab-apple-trees would sprout from them and that was why she had put them forth.
Then winter came, with frost and snow. The old dog lay all day under the stove in the parlour. The crab-apple-tree stood outside in the snow, with the queer stone under her branch.
When spring returned, the dog, one day, came jogging round the fence.
THE OLD DOG STOOD ON HIS HIND-LEGS AND BLINKED WITH HIS BLIND EYESTHE OLD DOG STOOD ON HIS HIND-LEGS AND BLINKED WITH HIS BLIND EYES
It took longer than last year and he was now almost quite blind in the other eye as well. But he found his way to the apple-tree and rubbed himself, so that she saw that he still had those fleas.
"All going as usual, Dog?"
"Yes, Apple-Tree.... Same with you?"
"Well, I'll tell you," said the tree. "I daresay you remember that stone the blackbird brought me? Well, look here, some time ago, I felt a most curious pricking and itching and aching just where it was."
"Then itmustbe a flea," said the dog.
"Now listen," said the tree. "It was a most unpleasant sensation. And then my branch swelled up at the place where the stone was...."
"It's a flea, it's a flea!" cried the dog. "There's no doubt about it. Just rub yourself up against me, old Apple-Tree! It's only fair that I should make you a return for your kindness."
"What does a flea look like?" asked the apple-tree.
"We-ell," said the dog and rubbed himself. "They're that sort of chaps, you know, that one really never has time to see them."
"Has a flea green leaves?"
"Not that I know of," said the dog.
"Come and look up here," said the tree. "There ... onmy lowest branch ... just above your head ... is that a flea?"
The old dog stood on his hind-legs and blinked with his blind eyes:
"I can't see so far," he said. "But I have never been able to see the fleas on my own tail, so that doesn't mean anything."
Then he slunk away.
But, a little later, a thin voice came from the apple-tree's branch and said:
"I am not a flea. I am the mistletoe."
"Well, I'm no wiser," said the apple-tree.
"I'm a plant like yourself," said the voice. "I shall turn into a bush ... with roots and branches and flowers and leaves and all the rest of it."
"Then why don't you grow in the ground like us?" asked the crab-apple-tree.
"That happens not to be my nature," said the mistletoe.
"Then you have a nasty nature," said the apple-tree and shook herself furiously, so that her white blossoms trembled. "For I understand this much, that I shall have to feed you, you sluggard!"
"Yes, please, if you will be so good," said the mistletoe. "I have my roots fixed in you already; and I am growing day by day. Later on, I shall put forth little green blossoms. They'renot much to look at; but then the berries will come, beautiful, juicy white berries: the blackbird is quite mad on them."
"The blackbird is a very fine bird," said the apple-tree; "but, if he wants to dine off me, he can eat my own apples."
"You mustn't think that I have berries for the blackbird's sake," said the mistletoe. "Inside the berry there is a stone; and in the stone my seed lies. And the stone is so sticky that it hangs tight on to the blackbird's beak, until he manages to rub it off on some good old apple-tree or other, who will be a foster-mother to my children, as you have been to me."
"You're a nice family, upon my word!" said the apple-tree. "Aren't you ashamed to live upon other people's labour? And can't you cast your seed on the ground, as every one else does, and leave it to look after itself?"
"No," said the mistletoe, "I can't. But it's no use my explaining that to you. There is something mysterious and refined about me that raises me above the common trees. Men and women understand it. They have surrounded me with beautiful and curious legends and ballads. Just think, over in England they simply can't keep Christmas without hanging a bunch of me from the ceiling. Then, when they dance and come under the bunch, they are allowed to kiss each other."
"Pooh!" said the crab-apple-tree. "That's nothing to talk about. Why, there isn't an engaged couple in the whole parish but has sat in my shade and kissed."
"You miss the point of it, old friend," said the mistletoe. "Engaged couples can kiss wherever they please. But those who dance under the mistletoe may kiss each other even if they are not engaged."
"You horrid, immoral foreigner!" said the apple-tree. "Butone can't expect anything else from the sort of life you lead. Well, it's to be hoped that you'll freeze to bits in the winter."
"Indeed, I shall do no such thing," replied the mistletoe. "When your leaves are withered and fallen and you stand strutting with your bare branches in the snow, mine will be just as fresh and green as now. I amevergreenyou must know: green in winter and green in spring."
The crab-apple-tree was so exasperated that she was quite unable to reply. But, when the dog came next day, she told him all about it.
"Then he is a flea, after all," said the old dog. "In a fashion. You must manage to rub him off you: that's the only thing that helps a bit."
"I am not a dog to run and rub myself," said the apple-tree. "But, all the same, it's hard for a respectable tree to have to put up with this sort of thing in her old age."
"Take it calmly now!" said the mistletoe. "Who knows but that you'll end by being glad to have me?"
The next summer, an old professor, with a pair of spectacles on his nose and a great botanizing-case on his back, came roaming through the wood.
He sat down under the crab-apple-tree to eat his lunch, but fella-thinking in the middle of it, leant his head back against the trunk and looked up into the leaves.
Suddenly he jumped up, dropped his sandwich and stared hard at the mistletoe. He took off his spectacles, wiped them on the skirt of his coat, put them back on his nose and went on staring.
Then he ran in and fetched the old keeper:
"Keeper, do you see that tree?" he said. "That's the most remarkable tree in the whole wood."
"That one there?" said the keeper. "Why, it's only an old crab-apple-tree, professor. You should see a couple of apple-trees I have in my garden."
"I don't care a fig for them," said the professor. "I would give all the apple-trees in the world for this one tree. There's a mistletoe growing on her, you must know, and the mistletoe is the rarest plant in Denmark. You must put a fence round the tree at once, so that no one can hurt her. For, if she dies, then the mistletoe dies too."
And a fence was put round the old apple-tree. The professor wrote about her in the newspapers; and every one who came to the neighbourhood had to go and look at the mistletoe.
"Well?" said the mistletoe.
"My dear little foster-child," said the crab-apple-tree, "if there's anything you require, do, for goodness' sake, say so!"
When the keeper's old dog came out and wanted to rub himself, he remained standing in amazement and looked at the fence with his one, half-blind eye.
"You can go back to the garden and rub yourself against therealapple-trees!" said the crab-apple-tree, haughtily. "I stand here with a mistletoe and must be treated with the utmost care.If I die, the mistletoe dies: do you understand? I have been written about in the papers. I am the most important tree in the wood!"
"Yes ... you're all that!" said the dog and jogged home again.
There was a terrible commotion in the lilac-bush.
Not a breath of wind was blowing; and yet the branches shook from top to bottom and all the leaves quivered so that it hurt one's eyes to see.
The chaffinch perched upon the bush for his after-dinner nap, as was his wont; but the branches shook under him to such an extent that he could not close an eye and he flew away quite frightened to the laburnum. He asked his wife what on earth could be the matter with that decent bush; but she was sitting on her eggs and was too busy to answer. Then he asked his neighbour, the tit; and the tit scratched his black skull-cap and shook his head mysteriously:
"I don't understand bush-language," he said. "But there's something wrong. I noticed it myself this morning, when I was sitting over there, singing."
Then he sat down in the laburnum beside the chaffinch and both of them stared at the queer bush.
Now the only thing the matter with the lilac-bush was that the root had turned sulky:
"Here I have to sit and drudge for the whole family!" he growled. "It is I who do all the work. I must provide food for the branches and the leaves and the flowers and hold them fast besides, else the wind would soon blow the whole lot away. And who gives a thought to a faithful servant like me? Does it ever occur to those fine fellows up there that somebody else might also need a little recreation? I hear them talk of the spring and sunshine and all that sort of thing; but I myself never get a bit of it. I don't even know for certain what it means; I only know that in the spring they all eat like mad. It's quite a decent place in the winter: then there's no more to do than a fellow can manage; and it's snug and cosy in here. But a root has a regular dog's life of it as soon as the air turns warm."
"Catch good hold of the earth, you old root!" cried the branches. "The wind's rising, there's a storm brewing!"
"Send us up some more food, you black root!" whispered the leaves. "It will be long before the whole family has done growing."
Then the flowers began to sing:
"Water's a boon;Send us some soon!For, in fierce heat,Drinking is sweet.Then grant our suit,You ugly root;Send water, pray,This way!"
"Ah, isn't that just what I said?" growled the root. "It's I who bear all the brunt. But we'll soon put an end to that. I want to come up and have a good wash in the rain and let the sun shine on me, so that people can see that I am quite as good as the rest. Hullo, you dandy branches, who are not twopence-worth of use! I'm sick and tired of working for a pack of idlers like you. I'm coming up to take a holiday. Hold tight, for I'm letting go!"
"Idlers, indeed!" cried the branches. "That's all you know about it, you silly root! We certainly do at least as much as you."
"You?" asked the root. "What do you do, I should like to know?"
"We straddle all day long to lift up the green leaves in the sunshine," replied the branches. "We have to spread ourselves on every side, so that they may all get the same amount. If you could look up here, you would see that some of us are crooked with the mere effort. No, you can call the leaves idlers, if you must needs have somebody to vent your sulks upon."
The root pondered upon this for a while and at last came to the conclusion that it was very sensible. And then he began storming frightfully at the green leaves:
"How long do you think that I mean to be your servant?"he growled. "I give you notice, from the first of the month, I do! Then you can turn to and do some work for yourselves, you lazy leaves!"
The branches now began to scold in their turn and cried to the leaves:
"The root is right! You must make yourselves useful, that's what we say too. We are tired of carrying you."
And they creaked loudly to emphasize their remarks.
"Fair and softly, you black root!" whispered the leaves. "And, if you were not so consequential, you long branches, you would not shout loud, for, after all, it's annoying to have people find out what dunces you are. Do you imagine that we have not our task as well as you?"
"Let's hear, let's hear!" said the branches, drawing themselves up.
"Let's hear about it!" said the root, making himself as stiff as he could.