The little tree was filled with joy at finding that, after all, there was something she could do to be of use.
"I have watched the little blue eggs ever since you left them here," she said; and she seemed to snuggle her branches more closely about the nest.
At last the little robins grew strong enough to fly, and the nest was left empty, though the young birds stayed in the orchard and often came to perch in the tree, and sing their song of gratitude.
Indeed all the creatures about seemed to know that here was loving shelter for them. A little chipmunk made its home under the rock at the foot of the tree, and frisked up the trunk and among the boughs. Many birds perched in the branches and told wonderful song stories of what was going on in the world.
A merry little flycatcher chose a small twig under one of the boughs of the apple tree, where it perched for hours, darting out when a fly or other insect buzzed by; but always returning to the little twig as if it were home. In the shade of the thick-leaved boughs, the friendly cows sought shelter, patiently chewing their cud, and switching their tails to shoo off the flies.
And so the earnest little tree did all she could to be of use, and was more beloved, though she did not know it, than any tree in the orchard. Yet she could not but think sadly of her little green apples, that seemed to show no signs of ripening.
Many long summer days passed. The early harvest apples in their full prime were picked and barreled.
Each day the golden pippins grew more juicy and golden; the big jolly Ben Davis, wine-saps, northern spies, bellflowers and many others ripening in their turn, filled the orchard with a delightful odor and glow of color; but the fruit on the one tree seemed as hard and backward as ever.
The trees with the beautiful fruit laughed and whispered among themselves, and the little tree was very unhappy, for she thought they were laughing at her.
"Surely my fruit must begin to ripen soon," she thought.