“We are all oak-trees,” they said and drew themselves up. “We own the land and we govern it.”
And they were quite right, for there were only very few people at that time. Otherwise there was nothing but wild animals. Bears, wolves and foxes went hunting, while the deer grazed by the edge of the marsh. The wood-mouse sat outside her hole eating acorns and the beaver built his ingenious house on the river-bank.
2
Then, one day, the bear came trudging along and lay down at full length under a great oak-tree.
“Are you there again, you robber?” said the oak and shook a heap of withered leaves over him.
“You really ought not to be so wasteful with your leaves, old friend,” said the bear, licking his paws. “They are the only thing you have to keep off the sun with.”
“If you don’t like me, you can go away,” replied the oak, proudly. “I am lord of the land and, look where you may, you will find none but my brothers.”
“True enough,” growled the bear. “That’s just the tiresome part of it. I’ve been for a little trip abroad, you see, and have been a bit spoilt. That was in a country down south. I there took a nap under the beech-trees. Those are tall, slender trees, not crooked old fellows like you. And their tops are so close that the sunbeams can’t pierce through them at all. It was a real delight to sleep there of an afternoon, believe me.”
“Beech-trees?” asked the oak, curiously. “What are they?”
“You might wish that you were half as handsome as a beech-tree,” said the bear. “But now I’m not going to gossip with you any more. I’ve had to trot over a mile in front of a confounded hunter, who caught me on one of my hind-legs with an arrow. Now I want to sleep; and perhaps you will be so kind as to provide me with rest, since you can’t provide me with shade.”