fixed in you already; and I am growing day by day. Later on, I
shall put forth little green blossoms. They're not much to look at; but
then the berries will come, beautiful, juicy white berries: the
blackbird is quite mad on them."

"The blackbird is a very fine bird," said the apple-tree; "but, if he
wants to dine off me, he can eat my own apples."

"You mustn't think that I have berries for the blackbird's sake," said
the mistletoe. "Inside the berry there is a stone; and in the stone my
seed lies. And the stone is so sticky that it hangs tight on to the
blackbird's beak, until he manages to rub it off on some good old
apple-tree or other, who will be a foster-mother to my children, as you
have been to me."

"You're a nice family, upon my word!" said the apple-tree. "Aren't you
ashamed to live upon other people's labour? And can't you cast your seed
on the ground, as every one else does, and leave it to look after
itself?"

"No," said the mistletoe, "I can't. But it's no use my explaining that
to you. There is something mysterious and refined about me that raises
me above the common trees. Men and women understand it. They have
surrounded me with beautiful and curious legends and ballads. Just
think, over in England they simply can't keep Christmas without hanging
a bunch of me from the ceiling. Then, when they dance and come under the
bunch, they are allowed to kiss each other."

"Pooh!" said the crab-apple-tree. "That's nothing to talk about. Why,
there isn't an engaged couple in the whole parish but has sat in my
shade and kissed."

"You miss the point of it, old friend," said the mistletoe. "Engaged
couples can kiss wherever they please. But those who dance under the
mistletoe may kiss each other even if they are not engaged."

"You horrid, immoral foreigner!" said the apple-tree. "But one can't
expect anything else from the sort of life you lead. Well, it's to be
hoped that you'll freeze to bits in the winter."

"Indeed, I shall do no such thing," replied the mistletoe. "When your
leaves are withered and fallen and you stand strutting with your bare
branches in the snow, mine will be just as fresh and green as now. I am
_evergreen_ you must know: green in winter and green in spring."

The crab-apple-tree was so exasperated that she was quite unable to
reply. But, when the dog came next day, she told him all about it.

"Then he is a flea, after all," said the old dog. "In a fashion. You
must manage to