could hope to describe it: there were flowers at
her feet and sunshine in her green tree-tops; the song of the birds
echoed in even the smallest bush; and perfume and bright colours and
gaiety reigned here and there and everywhere.

Now it happened, one summer's day, while the wood stood waving her
branches, that she set eyes upon a funny brown thing which was
spreading itself over the hills towards the west and which she had never
seen before:

"What sort of fellow are you?" asked the wood.

"I am the heath," said the brown thing.

"I don't know you," said the wood, "and I don't like you: you are so
ugly and black, you don't look like the field or the meadow or anything
that I know. Can you bud into leaf? Can you blossom? Can you sing?"

[Illustration]

"Indeed I can," said the heath. "In August, when your leaves begin to
look dark and tired, my flowers will come out. Then I am purple, purple
from end to end, and more beautiful than anything you have ever seen."

"You're a braggart!" said the wood; and the conversation dropped.

2

Next year, the heath had crept a little way down the hill, towards the
wood. The wood saw this, but said nothing. She thought it beneath her
dignity to talk to such an ugly fellow; but, in her heart of hearts, she
was afraid. Then she made herself greener and prettier and looked as if
there were nothing the matter.

But, every year, the heath came nearer. He had now covered all the hills
and lay just outside the fence of the wood.

"Be off!" said the wood. "You annoy me. Take care you don't touch my
fence!"

"I'm coming over your fence," said the heath. "I'm coming into you, to
eat you up and destroy you."

Then the wood laughed till all her leaves quivered:

"So that's what you mean to do, is it?" she said. "If only you can
manage it! I'm afraid that you will find me too big a mouthful. I
daresay you think I'm a bit of a field or meadow, which one can walk
over in a couple of strides. But I'm the most powerful and important
person in the neighbourhood, you may as well know. I shall soon sing my
song to you; then perhaps you will change your ways of thinking."

[Illustration]

Then the wood began to sing. All the birds sang; and the flowers raised
their heads and sang too. The smallest leaf hummed with the rest, the
fox stopped in the middle of eating a fat chicken and beat time with his
brush, the wind blew through the branches and played an organ
accompaniment to the