Before long the juniper began to slip, “Take hold of me,” said the heather. The juniper did so, and whenever the smallest crack could be seen, the heather put its finger into it. Wherever the heather had first pried in a finger, the juniper put a whole hand. They crawled and crept, the fir working hard, the birch always behind the rest.
“This is a noble work,” said the birch.
The mountain began to wonder what kind of creatures these might be that came clambering up its side. And after it had thought the matter over for a hundred years or two it sent a little brooklet down to find out. As it happened, the brook went at the time of the spring floods. It crept down till it met the heather. “Dear, dear heather,” said the brook, “won’t you let me pass? I am so tiny.” The heather was very busy, so merely raised itself a bit, and worked on. The brooklet slipped in underneath and away.
“Dear, dear juniper, won’t you let me pass? I am so very little.” The juniper eyed it severely, but since the heather had let the brook slip by, the juniper might do that too.
The brook raced on down the hill, and came to where the fir stood puffing, out of breath, on the hillside. “Dear, dear fir, won’t you let me by?” begged the brook, “I am so very small,” and kissed the fir on the foot, and smiled. The fir let it by.
And the birch made way for the brook, even before it was asked.
“Hi, hi, hi!” said the brook and grew. “Ha, ha, ha!” said the brook and grew larger. “Ho, ho, ho!” said the brook, and tore up the heather, the juniper, the fir, and the birch by their roots and flung them pell mell, head o’er heels, down the steep slope of the mountain.
The mountain sat for several hundred years after that and smiled at the memory of that day. It was plain to be seen: The mountain did not want to be clothed.
The heather fretted and worried until it grew green again, and then it set forth once more. “Courage!” said the heather.
The juniper half raised itself to get a good look at the heather. So long did it sit half raised that at last it sat upright. It scratched its head, set forth again, and dug in so hard for a foothold that it seemed surely the mountain must feel it. “If you won’t have me, then I will have you.”