And one day the little shoots did at last burst forth from the earth. The sun shone on them, and the rain fell on them, so it was not long before they grew tall.
"Oh, how pretty they are!" said the great oak, and stooped his crooked boughs still more, so that they could get a good view of them.
"You are welcome among us," said the old oak, and graciously inclined his head to them. "You shall be my foster-children, and be treated just as well as my own."
"Thanks," said the little beeches, and they said no more.
But the little oak could not bear the strange trees. "It is dreadful the way you shoot up into the air," he said in vexation. "You are already half as tall as I am. But I beg you to take notice that I am much older, and of good family besides."
The beeches laughed with their little, tiny green leaves, but said nothing.
"Shall I bend my branches a little aside so that the sun can shine better on you?" the old tree asked politely.
"Many thanks," answered the beeches. "We can grow very nicely in the shade."