"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!"