BLINKED WITH HIS
BLIND EYES]

Then winter came, with frost and snow. The old dog lay all day under the
stove in the parlour. The crab-apple-tree stood outside in the snow,
with the queer stone under her branch.

When spring returned, the dog, one day, came jogging round the fence.

It took longer than last year and he was now almost quite blind in the
other eye as well. But he found his way to the apple-tree and rubbed
himself, so that she saw that he still had those fleas.

"All going as usual, Dog?"

"Yes, Apple-Tree.... Same with you?"

"Well, I'll tell you," said the tree. "I daresay you remember that stone
the blackbird brought me? Well, look here, some time ago, I felt a most
curious pricking and itching and aching just where it was."

"Then it _must_ be a flea," said the dog.

"Now listen," said the tree. "It was a most unpleasant sensation. And
then my branch swelled up at the place where the stone was...."

"It's a flea, it's a flea!" cried the dog. "There's no doubt about it.
Just rub yourself up against me, old Apple-Tree! It's only fair that I
should make you a return for your kindness."

"What does a flea look like?" asked the apple-tree.

"We-ell," said the dog and rubbed himself. "They're that sort of chaps,
you know, that one really never has time to see them."

"Has a flea green leaves?"

"Not that I know of," said the dog.

"Come and look up here," said the tree. "There ... on my lowest branch
... just above your head ... is that a flea?"

The old dog stood on his hind-legs and blinked with his blind eyes:

"I can't see so far," he said. "But I have never been able to see the
fleas on my own tail, so that doesn't mean anything."

Then he slunk away.

But, a little later, a thin voice came from the apple-tree's branch and
said:

"I am not a flea. I am the mistletoe."

[Illustration]

"Well, I'm no wiser," said the apple-tree.

"I'm a plant like yourself," said the voice. "I shall turn into a bush
... with roots and branches and flowers and leaves and all the rest of
it."

"Then why don't you grow in the ground like us?" asked the
crab-apple-tree.

"That happens not to be my nature," said the mistletoe.

"Then you have a nasty nature," said the apple-tree and shook herself
furiously, so that her white blossoms trembled. "For I understand this
much, that I shall have to feed you, you sluggard!"

"Yes, please, if you will be so good," said the mistletoe. "I have my
roots