next year's buds used to sit so
nicely, each in its axil. But I still have all my roots, all those which
I procured when I had a big household and many to provide for. Now the
ice on the ground is melting and the sun shining and the roots are
sucking and sucking. All the sap is going up through my trunk and rising
to my head. And I haven't the slightest use for it.... Oh, oh!... I'm
bursting, I'm dying!"

"Poor Willow-Tree!" said the rose-bush.

But round on the other side of the little hillock stood an elder-bush,
whom no one talked to, as a rule, and who never put in his oar:

"Just wait and see," he said. "Two or three days will put things right.
Only listen to what a poor, but honest elder-bush tells you. Things
always end by settling themselves in one way or another."

"Yes, you've experienced a bit of life," said the oak.

"Goodness knows I have!" said the elder. "They have cut me and cropped
me and chopped me and slashed at me in every direction. But, every time
they curtailed me on one side, I shot out on the other. It will be just
like that with the willow-tree. He comes of a tough family too."

"Do you hear that?" said the nearest poplar. "The elder-bush is
comparing his family with ours! Let's pretend not to hear him. We'll
stand erect and whisper."

"We'll stand erect and whisper ... whisper ... stand erect and whisper,"
whispered the poplars along the avenue.

"What are those funny little things up in the willow-tree's top?" said
the oak. "Just look ... he's swelling, right up there ... it's a regular
eruption.... If only we don't catch it!"

"Oh dear no, those are buds!" said the willow-tree. "I can't understand
it, but I can feel it. They are real live buds. I am turning green
again, I am getting a new crown."

Then came the busiest time of the year, when every one had enough to do
minding his own affairs and had no time to think about the poor
willow-tree.

The stately poplars and the humble elder got new leaves. The grass shot
up green beside the ditch, the corn grew in the fields, the wild
rose-bush put forth her dainty leaves, so that the flowers should look
their best when they arrived in July. Violets and anemones blossomed and
died, daisies and pansies, dandelions and wild chervil and parsley: oh,
it was a swarming and a delight on every hand! The birds sang as they
had never sung before, the frogs croaked in the marsh, the snake lay on
the stone fence, basking his black body in the su