song of the wood:

"Merrier meeting was never yet
Than the festal wood discloses,
When wood-ruff nestles by violet
In a cluster of sweet wild roses.

"Small birds in the brake fly up and down
Nor ever a bird flies single
And the woodman twines for his lass a crown
Where berries and beech commingle.

"Roe, fox and hare hold revel all,
Thro' flowerage the wee worm glances;
There great and small a-dancing fall
And the sun up in Heaven dances."

"What do you say to that?" asked the wood.

The heath said nothing. But, next year, he came over the fence.

"Are you mad?" screamed the wood. "Why, I forbade you to cross the
fence!"

"You are not my mistress," said the heath. "I am doing as I said I
would."

Then the wood called the red fox and shook her branches so that a
quantity of beech-mast fell upon him and remained hanging in his skin:

"Run across to the heath, Foxie, and scatter the beech-mast out there!"
said the wood.

[Illustration]

"Right you are!" said the fox and jogged away.

And the hare did the same and the marten and the mouse. And the crow
lent a hand, for old acquaintance' sake, and the wind took hold and blew
and shook the branches till the mast flew far out into the heath.

"That's it!" said the wood. "Now let's see what comes of _that_."

"Yes, let us!" said the heath.

A certain time passed and the wood grew green and withered and the heath
spread more and more and they did not talk to each other. But, one fine
spring day, tiny little new-born beeches and oaks peeped up from the
ground round about in the heather.

"What do you say now?" asked the wood, triumphantly. "My trees shall
grow year after year, till they become tall and strong. Then they shall
close their tops over you: no sun shall shine, no rain shall fall upon
you; and you shall die, as a punishment for your presumption."

But the heath shook his black twigs earnestly:

"You don't know me," he said. "I am stronger than you think. Your trees
will never turn green in me. I have bound the earth under me as firm as
iron and your roots can't go through it. Just wait till next year! Then
the little fellows you are so pleased with will all be dead."

"You're lying," said the wood.

But she was frightened.

3

[Illustration]

Next year, it happened as the heath had said. The little oaks and
beeches died as one tree. And now a terrible time came for the wood. The
heath spread mor