ften, in the calm summer nights, the Oak would talk to her of
the days of the long-ago; you would have thought it was merely the
breeze sighing amidst the branches, but it was the voice of the Oak
telling of the past.

Many of the birds imagined the Aspen to be a weak, trembling tree,
quivering always with fear at the slightest wind that ruffled its
branches.

'Scarcely safe to build a nest in!' so said an old motherly Rook, who
had reared many a brood.

But the fairies who danced beneath its shade on bright moonlight nights
knew better; they knew that the fragile-_looking_ tree never trembled
with fear; they had often seen it meekly bend beneath the sway of the
fierce wintry blasts, knowing full well whose hand guided the storm; and
when the summer came they knew that then it quivered with happiness at
being created on so fair an earth, and that its leaves only shook with
quiet laughter as it listened to the merry chatter of the brook.

Well--winter had passed with his frosts and snows, and spring was
scattering her flowers everywhere. The Cuckoo was calling aloud,
'Cuckoo, cuckoo,' all day long, never heeding the young folks who mocked
his song; even the Swallows had returned from the warm, sunny South, and
were for ever skimming over the brook, just dipping their wings into its
limpid waves, then off again with the joyous 'Twit, twit, twit.' The
meadows, too, were yellow with buttercups, in which the cows waded
knee-deep. Talk of the Field of the Cloth of Gold! Francis the First
would have been a clever man could he have made such an one!--no earthly
king could create golden fields like these.

All nature was rejoicing in earth's brightness, and our old friends the
Oak and the Aspen as much as any. They had put forth their fresh green
leaves, and beneath their shade many a tired traveller rested from the
noonday sun, thanking them both in his heart for the welcome shelter.

During the winter the Oak had not been idle, for it had extended its
branches far and wide; one, indeed, stretched right across the brook, in
fact, almost touched its opposite neighbour, and the Aspen welcomed it
gladly. You would have thought it great happiness to live in such a
lovely spot, I know, but there is never perfect bliss, and if little
folks _will_ be discontented, they make the prettiest place appear
wretched and miserable.

Now, among the leaves of the Oak there was one that was always restless
and fidgety. In vain the sweet