The Old Willow Tree, and Other Stories. Ewald Carl

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СКАЧАТЬ into the earth and eats them and turns them into mould. So I say, like the elder-bush, it will be all right."

      "So you're becoming hollow?" asked the oak.

      "I am," said the willow-tree. "It can't be helped. It's not quite the sort of thing to talk about, but it's different now, because the dandelion was so anxious. It shall never be said of me that I took a respectable flower as a boarder and then let her suffer mortal want."

      "Who ever heard a tree talk like that?" said the oak.

      "Well, I must say I agree with you this time," said the wild rose-bush.

      "I don't think he will hold out very long now," said the elder-bush.

      "Thank you, you good old Willow-Tree," said the dandelion. "Now I can go on growing hopefully. I have only this year to think of. When I have sent my seeds into the world with their little parachutes, I shall have done all that is expected of me. I should be delighted if one of them would stay here and grow on you."

      "Many thanks," said the willow-tree.

      "He accepts the sympathy of the rose-bush and the elder … he says thank-you to the dandelion … and he's a relation of ours … oh, shocking!" said the nearest poplar.

      "Shocking … shocking … shocking!" whispered the poplars along the avenue.

      Then evening came and night; and one and all slept. The wind had gone down, so that there was not even the least whisper in the poplars. But the oak on the little hillock in the fields called out to the willow-tree:

      "Pst!.. Pst!.. Willow-Tree!.. Are you asleep?"

      "I can't sleep," said the willow-tree. "It's rumbling and gnawing and trickling and seething inside me. I can feel it coming lower and lower. I don't know what it is, but it makes me so melancholy."

      "You're becoming hollow," said the oak.

      "Perhaps that's what it is," said the willow-tree, sadly. "Well, there's nothing to be done. What can't be cured must be endured."

      "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 as the 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.

      8

      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. "But what 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," СКАЧАТЬ