Not a breath of wind was blowing; and yet the branches shook from top to bottom and all the leaves quivered so that it hurt one's eyes to see.

 

The chaffinch perched upon the bush for his after-dinner nap, as was his wont²; but the branches shook under him to such an extent that he could not close an eye and he flew away quite frightened to the laburnum. He asked his wife what on earth could be the matter with that decent bush; but she was sitting on her eggs and was too busy to answer. Then he asked his neighbour, the tit; and the tit scratched his black skull-cap and shook his head mysteriously:

 

"I don't understand bush-language," he said. "But there's something wrong. I noticed it myself this morning, when I was sitting over there, singing."

 

Then he sat down in the laburnum beside the chaffinch and both of them stared at the queer bush.

 

Now the only thing the matter with the lilac-bush was that the root had turned sulky:

 

"Here I have to sit and drudge³ for the whole family!" he growled⁴. "It is I who do all the work. I must provide food for the branches and the leaves and the flowers and hold them fast besides, else the wind would soon blow the whole lot away. And who gives a thought to a faithful servant like me? Does it ever occur to those fine fellows up there that somebody else might also need a little recreation? I hear them talk of the spring and sunshine and all that sort of thing; but I myself never get a bit of it. I don't even know for certain what it means; I only know that in the spring they all eat like mad. It's quite a decent place in the winter: then there's no more to do than a fellow can manage; and it's snug⁵ and cosy⁶ in here. But a root has a regular dog's life of it as soon as the air turns warm."

 

"Catch good hold of the earth, you old root!" cried the branches. "The wind's rising, there's a storm

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