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!"
