"Are you happy, brother, and what can you see up there?"
"I see the sky," said the elder twig; "there is blue all round me instead of green. I see trees that are taller than our hedge a great deal, and hills that are higher than all. I see white clouds like pillows, and birds that are lost in the clouds. Ah, I have longed for this! I feel a great joy and rapture to the end of my smallest leaf!"
"We don't know what you mean," said the younger one, "and there can't be anything higher than this hedge. And why do you speak so softly? We cannot hear half that you say."
"Insolent fellow! he is taller than any of us!" cried some of the twigs; but by this time he was too far off to hear their voices at all.
"I shall have a prize," said the twig to himself, "because I have grown so tall. What will it be? I will ask the swallow. Swallow, shall I have a gold crown?"
"No, not a crown," said the swallow, but something as good, I dare say. Far away down in the country I know of a twig like you. He grew far away from his fellows—so tall, and so strong, and so fair. He saw the world and all that was passing. He stretched right over the stile, and shaded those who sat there. He was painted by an artist, because he was so lovely. And last of all a fair wild rose came and rested on his bosom."
"I shall get my reward," said the little twig; "my white rose will come at last."
Just then there came walking around the garden, the gardener with his great long shears.
"The hedge is growing uneven," he said; "here's a twig much longer than the rest."