ou against the storm. I let the sun shine on you whenever he
wanted to and I treated you as if you were my own children. And now you
choke me, by way of thanks."

"Fudge!" said the beeches. Then they blossomed and put forth fruit; and,
when the fruit was ripe, the wind shook their branches and scattered it
all around.

"You are active people like myself," said the wind. "That's why I like
you and will gladly give you a hand."

[Illustration]

And the fox rolled at the foot of the beech and filled his coat with the
prickly fruit and ran all over the country with it. The bear did the
same and moreover laughed at the old oak while he lay and rested in the
shadow of the beech. The wood-mouse was delighted with the new food
which she got and thought that beech-nuts tasted much better than
acorns.

New little beeches shot up around and grew just as quickly as their
parents and looked as green and happy as if they did not know what a bad
conscience was.

And the old oak gazed out sadly over the forest. The bright-green
beech-leaves peeped forth on every hand and the oaks sighed and told one
another their troubles:

"They are taking our power from us," they said and shook themselves as
well as they could for the beeches. "The land is no longer ours."

One branch died after the other and the storm broke them off and flung
them to the ground. The old oak had now only a few leaves left in his
top:

"The end is at hand," he said, gravely.

But there were many more people in the land now than there had been
before and they hastened to cut down the oaks while there were still
some left:

"Oak makes better timber than beech," they said.

"So at last we get a little appreciation," said the old oak. "But we
shall have to pay for it with our lives."

Then he said to the beech-trees:

"What was I thinking of, when I helped you on in your youth? What an old
fool I have been! We oak-trees used to be lords in the land; and now,
year after year, I have had to see my brothers all around perish in the
struggle against you. I myself am almost done for; and not one of my
acorns has sprouted, thanks to your shade. But, before I die, I should
like to know what you call your behaviour."

"That's soon said, old friend!" answered the beeches. "We call it
_competition_; and it's no discovery of ours. It's what rules the
world."

"I don't know those outlandish words of yours," said the oak. "_I_ call
it base ingratitude."

Then