The bear lay down and closed his eyes, but there was no sleep for him this time. For the other trees had heard what he had said and there came such a chattering and a jabbering and a rustling of leaves as had never been known in the forest.
“Heaven knows what sort of trees those are!” said the one. “Of course, it’s a story which the bear wants us to swallow,” said another.
“What can trees be like whose leaves are so close together that the sunbeams can’t pierce through them?” asked a little oak who had been listening to what the big ones were saying.
But next to him stood an old, gnarled tree, who slapped the little oak on the head with one of his lower branches.
“Hold your tongue,” he said, “and don’t talk till you’ve got something to say. And you others need not believe a word of the bear’s nonsense. I am much taller than you and I can see a long way over the forest. But as far away as I can see there is nothing but oak-trees.”
The little oak remained sheepish and silent and the other big trees whispered softly to one another, for they had a great respect for the old one.
But the bear got up and rubbed his eyes.
“Now you have disturbed my afternoon nap,” he growled, angrily, “and I shall have my revenge on you, never fear. When I come back, I shall bring some beech-seed with me and I’ll answer for it that you will all turn yellow with envy when you see how handsome the new trees are.”
Then he trotted away. But the oaks talked to one another for days at a time of the queer trees which he had told them of.
“If they come, we’ll do for them!” said the little oak-tree.