the summer passed as usual. the sun shone until every living thing prayed for rain. then it rained until they all cried to heaven for sunshine.

the willow-tree, however, was not the worst off. he was easily contented by nature. and then he was so greatly pleased with his new crown that he thought he could manage, whatever happened.

up in the top, in the middle of the wreath of green branches, was a hole which had come when the keeper had chopped off the crown. the hole was not so very small even; and, when it rained, it was full of water, which remained for a good while after the sun had dried the ground again.

one day, a blackbird came flying and sat down up there:

"may i take a drop of water from you, you dear old willow-tree?" he asked.

"with the greatest pleasure," said the willow-tree. "by the way, i am not so very old. i have been ill-treated."

"oh, yes," said the blackbird, "you have been polled! we know all about that."

"would you be so kind as to wipe your feet?" said the willow-tree. "i only mean that i should not like you to muddy the water if another should come and want a drink. one can never tell, in this drought."

the blackbird scraped his feet clean on a splinter of wood that was there. the splinter broke off and, when the bird flew away, there was quite a little heap of earth left. next day a swallow came and next a lark and gradually quite a number of birds.

for it soon got about that, at a pinch, there was generally a drop of water to be found in the old polled willow in the avenue. they all left something or other behind them; and, by the autumn, there was so much up there that, one fine day, it collapsed and quite filled up the little hole where the water was.

"you're simply keeping a public-house," said the oak.

"why shouldn't one be kind to one's fellow-creatures?" said the willow-tree.

it was now autumn. the withered leaves blew up into the willow-tree and lay and rotted. a dragon-fly had lain down to die up there in the latter part of the summer. one of the dandelion's fluffy seeds had fallen just beside her. the winter came and the snow fell on the little spot and lay for its appointed time, exactly as on the ground.

"it is just as though i had quite a piece of the world in my head," said the willow-tree.

"it's not healthy to have too much in one's head," said the oak.

"once i had a large and glorious crown," said the willow-tree, sadly. "now i am satisfied and delighted with less. we must take life as it comes."

"that's so," said the wild rose-bush.

"it will be all right," said the elder-bush. "i told you so."

"horrid vulgar fellow," said the nearest poplar.

"horrid ... vulgar ... fellow," whispered the poplars along the avenue.