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.