said:--

"Good gentlemen, what season is this?"

"It's Christmas," said Spare.

"Then a merry Christmas to you!" said the cuckoo. "I went to sleep in
the hollow of that old root one evening last summer, and never woke till
the heat of your fire made me think it was summer again. But now since
you have burned my lodging, let me stay in your hut till the spring
comes round,--I only want a hole to sleep in, and when I go on my
travels next summer be assured I will bring you some present for your
trouble."

"Stay and welcome," said Spare, while Scrub sat wondering if it were
something bad or not.

"I'll make you a good warm hole in the thatch," said Spare. "But you
must be hungry after that long sleep,--here is a slice of barley bread.
Come help us to keep Christmas!"

The cuckoo ate up the slice, drank water from a brown jug, and flew into
a snug hole which Spare scooped for it in the thatch of the hut.

Scrub said he was afraid it wouldn't be lucky; but as it slept on and
the days passed he forgot his fears.

So the snow melted, the heavy rains came, the cold grew less, the days
lengthened, and one sunny morning the brothers were awakened by the
cuckoo shouting its own cry to let them know the spring had come.

"Now I'm going on my travels," said the bird, "over the world to tell
men of the spring. There is no country where trees bud, or flowers
bloom, that I will not cry in before the year goes round. Give me
another slice of barley bread to help me on my journey, and tell me what
present I shall bring you at the twelvemonth's end."

Scrub would have been angry with his brother for cutting so large a
slice, their store of barley being low, but his mind was occupied with
what present it would be most prudent to ask for.

"There are two trees hard by the well that lies at the world's end,"
said the cuckoo; "one of them is called the golden tree, for its leaves
are all of beaten gold. Every winter they fall into the well with a
sound like scattered coin, and I know not what becomes of them. As for
the other, it is always green like a laurel. Some call it the wise, and
some the merry, tree. Its leaves never fall, but they that get one
of them keep a blithe heart in spite of all misfortunes, and can make
themselves as merry in a hut as in a palace."

"Good master cuckoo, bring me a leaf off that tree!" cried Spare.

"Now, brother, don't be a fool!" said Scrub; "think of the leaves of
beaten gold! Dear master