Then it happened that a shocking cry rang out through the forest. It was so loud that everything around grew silent and all listened to hear what it could be.
The one who had uttered the cry was an old, gnarled oak who stood among a crowd of fine young beeches:
“Prince of Summer, come to my aid!” he shouted. “Don’t you see that the beeches are stifling me? Before you have made your entry twice more into the valley, I shall be dead and buried under their shade.”
“I see it,” said Summer, calmly.
“You see it?” cried the oak and wrung his old branches in despair. “You see it and you don’t help me? Woe is me, to have a prince like you! Then Spring indeed was a different sort of gracious lord and king. There was not in the forest a stick so dry but he readily gave it a green leaf or two.”
But the Prince of Summer looked with indifference at the old, dying oak:
“I was never responsible for Spring’s green promises,” he replied. “I reign here according to my own law, and the law ordains that you shall die. What do I want with a fagot like you in my healthy forests?”
Then he turned to the beeches and said:
“I gave you strength to grow. I give you twofold strength and tenfold. Hasten and put that old gentleman to rest!”