But the Fir-tree declined the honour on the pretext that he was already to have the pleasure of burying the two victims and that he was afraid of rousing jealousy. He suggested the Beech, as owning the best club.
"It is out of the question," said the Beech. "You know I am worm-eaten! Ask the Elm and the Cypress."
Thereupon the Elm began to moan and groan: a mole had twisted his great toe the night before and he could hardly stand upright; and the Cypress excused himself and so did the Poplar, who declared that he was ill and shivering with fever. Then the Oak's indignation flared up:
"You are afraid of Man!" he exclaimed. "Even those unprotected and unarmed little Children inspire you with terror!... Well, I shall go forth alone, old and shaky and blind as I am, against the hereditary enemy!... Where is he?..."
And groping his way with his stick, he moved towards Tyltyl, growling as he went.
Our poor little friend had been very much afraid during the last few minutes. The Cat had left him suddenly, saying that she wanted to smooth down the excitement, and had not come back. Mytyl nestled trembling against him; and he felt very lonely, very unhappy among those dreadful people whose anger he was beginning to notice. When he saw the Oak marching on him with a threatening air, he drew his pocket-knife and defied him like a man:
"Is it I he's after, that old one, with his big stick?" he cried.
But, at the sight of the knife, Man's irresistible weapon, all the Trees shook with fright and rushed at the Oak to hold him back. There was a struggle; and the old King, conquered by the weight of years, threw away his stick:
"Shame on us!" he shouted. "Shame on us! Let the Animals deliver us!..."
The Animals were only waiting for this! All wanted to be revenged together. Fortunately, their very eagerness caused a scrimmage which delayed the murder of the dear little ones.