"Since you absolutely must have some one to abuse, why not go for the flowers? They are more smartly dressed than any of us; they live at the top of the tree, nearest to the sun. And what do they do? Perhaps you know, for, upon my word, we don't!"
"Quite right!" growled the root. "We won't submit to it any longer. Please render an account of yourselves, you lazy, dressed-up flowers! What are you good for? Why should we others drudge and toil for you?"
The flowers rocked softly to and fro and wafted their fragrance in the air. The others had to ask three times before they got an answer; but then the flowers sang:
"Where sunlight is streaming,
We float, ever dreaming..."
"Yes, we believe you!" said the leaves. "And do you call that working?"
But the flowers sang again:
"Where sunlight is streaming,
We float, ever dreaming
Of light and happiness and love,
Of all the glory of heaven above,
Of buds which at last through black earth shall rise
With thousands of tiny, lilac eyes."
"Bosh!" whispered the leaves and "Bosh!" cried the branches and "Bosh!" growled the root, on receiving this explanation.
They all agreed that it was a great shame that they should work for those lazy flowers. And they shook and creaked and whispered and cried and growled for sheer rage; and it became a terrible commotion.
But the flowers only laughed at them and sang: