e to slip in at one and
out at the other. The mice gnawed at the rotten wood. There were only
three or four twigs left up above and they were so thin and leafless
that it was a pitiful sight to see.

But the garden at the top thrived as it had never done before.

The strawberry-plant put out big flowers which turned into red heavy
berries. The black-currant-bush had also grown up and was bearing her
fruit. The dandelions shone yellow; and there was also a little blue
violet and a scarlet pimpernel, who only opened her flower when the sun
shone strongest at noon, and a tall spike of rye, swaying before the
wind.

"Why, you're better off now than ever!" said the wild rose-bush. "Since
you absolutely had to come to grief and lose your crown, you may well
say that fate has been kind to you and made amends to you."

"That's just what I do say," said the willow-tree. "If only I can bear
all this good fortune! I am getting thinner and thinner in my shell and
every year I lose a twig or two."

"It will end badly," said the oak. "I warned you beforehand. Remember
my poor old hollow uncle!"

"I daresay that it will end as it always ends," said the elder-bush.
"Whether the end comes one way or another, it is the same for all of us.
But I think the willow-tree has life left in him yet."

"There's nothing left to show that he belongs to the family," said the
nearest poplar. "His own branches are withering more and more; and it is
only strange twigs and leaves that he fans himself with. So that's all
right. We sha'n't say a word about his belonging to us: hush!"

"Hush ... hush ... hush!" whispered the poplars along the avenue.

One afternoon the earth-worm crept up there. Hitherto, he had always
kept down in the earth, for fear of the many birds about. He was the
longest, stoutest, fattest earth-worm in the world.

"Hullo, my dear Earth-Worm, how are you?" said the willow-tree. "I knew
you were there, but I have not had the pleasure of seeing you. I am glad
you are doing so well in me. How did you come up here exactly?"

"To tell the truth, it was really the blackbird's fault," said the
earth-worm. "He dropped me out of his beak. That is to say, he had only
got half of me. The rest of me drew back into the ground. So I was only
half a worm when I arrived."

"You're welcome all the same," said the willow-tree. "It makes no
difference to me if you're whole or half. I myself have lost my crown
and become no more than a wr