The Unkind Trees.
"You know it's ridiculous, and we mustn't put up with it any longer," said the Plane Tree. He wasn't called the Plane Tree because he was not good looking, but because he always spoke his mind.
"That's what I say," grumbled the Elm.
"To be sure," cried the Oak, in a deep, deep, deep voice—you would have fancied it came out of his boots. But I forgot: of course Oaks don't wear boots—but that does not signify.
The Aspen and the Sycamore sighed, and shook their leaves, and looked wise.
The Chestnut and the Beech whispered to one another, and waved their boughs indignantly.
"Yes," said the Poplar, a tall, straight, stiff tree, with a squeaky voice, "I do think it's a shame the Wood-cutters should be allowed to come here and cut us up whenever they choose. The Government, or the Parish, or the Local Authorities, or—or—somebody, ought to hinder them."
"Everybody encourages them to do it," said the Box Tree, angrily. The Box Tree was rather fond of fighting, and that's how he came by his name.