'Whatever is that for?' asked the Nightingale, in amazement. 'Why, supposing there's a bad harvest on your cedar, what will become of you then?'
It was the first time that such a question had been put to the Cedar-crows, and they did not know what to answer.
'A bad harvest!' Indeed it was possible. It often happens that in one place the harvest fails, and close by, or very near, such a quantity ripens that it goes to waste. But the young birds reassured their parents: on that cedar they had been hatched, and had grown up; they had always lived upon its fruits; they had always seen it the same—mighty and burdened with cones—could they imagine it different?
'A bad harvest! What do you mean?' they cried in chorus. 'The harvest cannot fail on our cedar!'
'Of course it can't!' echoed the parent birds in delight.
The Nightingale shook her little gray head, but made no further comment.
'Then it is forbidden to fly here?' she said. 'I beg your pardon, I did not know.'
'Oh, we are not angry; indeed, as you are on a journey, we shall be glad to offer you some refreshment,' replied the female Cedar-crow, glancing at her mate; and she laid before the Nightingale a single nut.
'Thank you,' said the Nightingale, and flew away without touching the nut.