“We can’t quite see what that has to do with us,” replied the beeches. “Every one has enough to do to look after himself. If he is industrious and successful, then things go well with him. If not, he must be content to go to the wall. Such is the way of the world.”
And the oak’s lower branches died and he began to be terribly frightened.
“You’re nice fellows, you are,” he said, “the way you reward me for my hospitality! When you were little, I let you grow on my food and protected you against the storm. I let the sun shine on you whenever he wanted to and I treated you as if you were my own children. And now you choke me by way of thanks.”
“Fudge!” said the beeches.
Then they blossomed and put forth fruit and, when the fruit was ripe, the wind shook their branches and spread it all around.
“You are active people, like myself,” said the wind. “That’s why I like you and will gladly give you a hand.”
And the fox rolled at the foot of the beech and filled his coat with the prickly fruit and ran all over the country with it. The bear did the same and moreover laughed at the old oak while he lay and rested in the shadow of the beech. The wood-mouse was delighted with the new food which he got and thought that beech-nuts tasted much better than acorns.
New little beeches shot up round about and grew just as quickly as their parents and looked as green and happy as if they did not know what a bad conscience was.
But the old oak gazed out sadly over the forest. The light beech-leaves peeped forth on every hand and the oaks sighed and told one another their troubles.
“They are taking our power from us,” they said and shook themselves as well as they could for the beeches. “The land is no longer ours.”