And the fox rolled on the ground at the foot of the beech trees and got his fur full of the prickly fruits, and ran with them far out into the country. The bear did the same, and grinned into the bargain at the old oak while he lay and rested in the shadow of the beeches. The field-mouse was beside himself with joy over his new food, and thought that beech nuts tasted much nicer than acorns. All around new little beech trees shot up, which grew just as fast as their parents, and looked as green and as happy as if they did not know what an uneasy conscience was.
But the old oak gazed sadly out over the wood. The light-green beech leaves were peeping out everywhere, and the oaks were sighing and bewailing their distress to one another.
"They are taking our strength out of us," they said, and shook as much as the beeches around would let them. "The land is ours no longer."
One bough died after another, and the storm broke them off and cast them on the ground. The old oak had now only a few leaves left at the very top.
"The end is near," he said gravely.
By this time there were many more human beings in the land than there were before, and they made haste to hew down the oaks while there were still some remaining.
"Oak timber is better than beech timber," they said.