one day the squire came walking down the avenue.

he had the keeper with him and his own two children, a little boy and a little girl. they had not been long at the manor-house and looked about them inquisitively, for everything was new to them.

"what on earth is that ugly old stump doing there?" asked the squire, pointing at the old willow-tree with his cane. "he's enough to spoil the whole avenue. see that you get rid of him to-morrow, keeper. it makes me quite ill to look at him."

for that happened to be his mood that day.

"now it's coming," said the oak. "that's your death-warrant, you old willow-tree. well, you won't be sorry. i think it must be better to make an end of it than to stand and get hollower day by day."

"we all cling to life," said the willow-tree sadly. "and what will become of my boarders?"

"they may be thankful that they lived so long," said the wild rose-bush.

"let's first see what happens," said the elder-bush. "i have been through times that looked worse still and have escaped for all that."

"thank goodness that's over!" said the poplar who stood nearest.

"thank goodness!... thank goodness!... thank goodness!" whispered the poplars along the avenue.

next morning the keeper came. he had merely an axe with him, for he thought it would only take a couple of blows to do away with the old, rotten willow-stump. just as he was about to strike, his eyes fell upon the black-currant-bush in the top. the currants were big and ripe. he put out his hand, picked one of them and ate it:

"what a remarkable thing!" he said. "it's exactly like those in the manor-garden. goodness knows how it got up there!"

"keeper! keeper!"

the squire's son came running down the avenue. he wanted to see the old willow-tree felled. the keeper told him about the black-currant-bush and picked a currant and gave it to him.

"lift me up. i must pick some for myself," said the boy.

the keeper lifted him up. he pulled with both hands at the willow-twigs up there and pulled so hard that they snapped.

then he caught hold of the tree's thin shell, which was so brittle that a big piece came off in each of his hands. but then he clapped his hands with surprise and delight and shouted:

"keeper! keeper! there's quite a garden up here. there are the loveliest strawberries beside the black-currant-bush ... and here's a little mountain-ash ... and a dear little oak ... and weeds, too ... five yellow dandelions ... and a spike of barley, keeper.... oh, how glorious, how glorious! i say, i must show it to sissy ... and to father!"

"hurry now and eat the strawberries," said the keeper. "for the trunk has to be cut down and then it's all up with the whole concern."

"lift me down," said the boy, kicking and sprawling. then, when he stood on the ground, "don't you dare cut down that tree," he said. "do you hear? don't you just dare!"

"ah, but i do dare!" said the keeper, smiling. "you yourself heard the squire tell me."

"i'm going to run and fetch father," said the boy. "and don't you dare touch the tree before i come back. if you do, trust me, i'll take my revenge on you when i'm squire myself one day!"

then he ran up the avenue. the keeper sat down in the ditch and waited, for he thought that the wisest thing to do:

"the young rascal has the squire's temper," he said.

"what did i tell you?" said the elder-bush. "you should always listen to those who know."

"it's an awful tension to be in," said the willow-tree. "if only i don't go to pieces for sheer fright. as it is, the boy took a good pull at me; and heaven knows i can't stand much more!"

"now you must hold out until we see what happens," said the wild rose-bush. "i have never known anything so exciting."

"nor i," said the oak. "but it can't end well, when you're hollow to start with."

then the boy came back with the squire. the little chap pointed and told his story. the keeper rolled a stone up, so that the squire could stand on it and look at the willow-tree's top:

"well, i never saw anything like it!" he said. "it's quite true: there's a regular garden up there. and my own strawberries, i do believe!"

he picked one and ate it:

"um!" he said. "why, that's the genuine flavour! i almost think they're even better than those in the garden."

"and is the tree to be cut down, father?"

"on no account!" said the squire. "it would be a thousand pities. why, he's the most remarkable tree on the whole estate! see and have a hoop put round him at the top, keeper. and then put a railing round him, so that the cows can't get at him and do him harm. we'll keep this fine old willow-tree as long as we possibly can. i'm exceedingly fond of him."

for that happened to be his mood that day.

an iron hoop was put round the willow-tree's trunk at the top and a railing at the bottom. every time the squire came driving along the avenue he stopped the carriage at the willow-tree:

"yes, the avenue is very nice indeed," he said to his guests. "but they're only quite ordinary poplars. now here i can show you something out of the common. yes, i know it looks like an old willow-stump, but just come over here...."

they stepped out of the carriage and on to the stone, one after the other, and admired the garden in the willow-tree's top.

"if the hoop wasn't there, i should burst," said the willow-tree. "what an honour and what luck for a wretched cripple like me! only think: the squire really climbed up and ate strawberries off me! and all the visitors to the manor-house are brought to look at me."

"it's incredible," said the oak. "it's just as though there were a premium on getting hollow."

"it's a romance," said the wild rose-bush. "i'll tell it to every bird that settles on me, so that it may be sung all over the world."

"it's exactly as i told you," said the elder-bush.

"when all is said and done, it was i, in a measure, who prepared the romance," said the blackbird. "but, honestly speaking, i prefer things as they were in the old days. then one could sit here in peace and quiet. now we run the risk every moment of somebody or other coming and sticking up his head and saying, 'well, i never!' or 'did you ever?' or 'o-oh!' or 'a-ah!'"

"never in my born days have i known anything like it," said the nearest poplar. "did you hear how the squire talked of his proud and stately poplars? we, who have stood guard along the road to his manor-house, summer and winter, year after year, all equally straight and still ... quite ordinary poplars, he called us! and then that disgusting, vulgar willow-tree!... that rotten old stump!... and he's a relation of ours into the bargain!... for shame!"

"for shame!... shame!... shame!" whispered the poplars along the avenue.