“Well,” said the stove, “if I can do naught else, I can smolder and smoke”; and so it fell a-smoking and steaming till the room was all in a cloud.
The ax saw this as it stood outside, and peeped with its shaft through the window.
“What’s all this smoke about, Mrs. Stove?” said the ax in a sharp voice.
“Why not,” said the stove, “when Goodman Chanticleer has fallen into the cask and drowned himself; Dame Partlet sits in the ingle sighing and sobbing; the handquern grinds and groans; the chair creaks and cracks, and the door bangs and slams. That’s why I smoke and steam.”
“Well, if I can do naught else, I can rive and rend,” said the ax; and with that it fell to riving and rending all around about.
This the aspen stood by and saw.
“Why do you rive and rend everything so, Mr. Ax?” said the aspen.
“Goodman Chanticleer has fallen into the ale-cask and drowned himself,” said the ax; “Dame Partlet sits in the ingle sighing and sobbing; the handquern grinds and groans; the chair creaks and cracks; the door slams and bangs, and the stove smokes and steams. That’s why I rive and rend all about.”
“Well, if I can do naught else,” said the aspen, “I can quiver and quake in all my leaves”; so it grew all of a quake.
The birds saw this, and twittered out: