But of the old wood there still remained one tree, who had only one green twig in his top. Here a little bird settled and told of the new wood that was growing up on the hill yonder.
"Thank Heaven!" said the old wood. "What one can't do one's self one must leave to the children. If only they're good for something! They look so thin!"
"I daresay you were thin yourself once," said the bird.
The old wood said nothing to this, for at that very moment she was finished; and so, of course, my story is finished too.
