ble commotion in the lilac-bush.

Not a breath of wind was blowing; and yet the branches shook from top to
bottom and all the leaves quivered so that it hurt one's eyes to see.

The chaffinch perched upon the bush for his after-dinner nap, as was his
wont; but the branches shook under him to such an extent that he could
not close an eye and he flew away quite frightened to the laburnum. He
asked his wife what on earth could be the matter with that decent bush;
but she was sitting on her eggs and was too busy to answer. Then he
asked his neighbour, the tit; and the tit scratched his black skull-cap
and shook his head mysteriously:

"I don't understand bush-language," he said. "But there's something
wrong. I noticed it myself this morning, when I was sitting over there,
singing."

[Illustration ]

Then he sat down in the laburnum beside the chaffinch and both of them
stared at the queer bush.

Now the only thing the matter with the lilac-bush was that the root had
turned sulky:

[Illustration ]

"Here I have to sit and drudge for the whole family!" he growled. "It is
I who do all the work. I must provide food for the branches and the
leaves and the flowers and hold them fast besides, else the wind would
soon blow the whole lot away. And who gives a thought to a faithful
servant like me? Does it ever occur to those fine fellows up there that
somebody else might also need a little recreation? I hear them talk of
the spring and sunshine and all that sort of thing; but I myself never
get a bit of it. I don't even know for certain what it means; I only
know that in the spring they all eat like mad. It's quite a decent place
in the winter: then there's no more to do than a fellow can manage; and
it's snug and cosy in here. But a root has a regular dog's life of it as
soon as the air turns warm."

"Catch good hold of the earth, you old root!" cried the branches. "The
wind's rising, there's a storm brewing!"

"Send us up some more food, you black root!" whispered the leaves. "It
will be long before the whole family has done growing."

Then the flowers began to sing:

"Water's a boon;
Send us some soon!
For, in fierce heat,
Drinking is sweet.
Then grant our suit,
You ugly root;
Send water, pray,
This way!"

"Ah, isn't that just what I said?" growled the root. "It's I who bear
all the brunt. But we'll soon put an end to that. I want to come up and
have a good wash in the rain and let the sun sh