next year, the heath had crept a little way down the hill, towards the wood. the wood saw this, but said nothing. she thought it beneath her dignity to talk to such an ugly fellow; but, in her heart of hearts, she was afraid. then she made herself greener and prettier and looked as if there were nothing the matter.

but, every year, the heath came nearer. he had now covered all the hills and lay just outside the fence of the wood.

"be off!" said the wood. "you annoy me. take care you don't touch my fence!"

"i'm coming over your fence," said the heath. "i'm coming into you, to eat you up and destroy you."

then the wood laughed till all her leaves quivered:

"so that's what you mean to do, is it?" she said. "if only you can manage it! i'm afraid that you will find me too big a mouthful. i daresay you think i'm a bit of a field or meadow, which one can walk over in a couple of strides. but i'm the most powerful and important person in the neighbourhood, you may as well know. i shall soon sing my song to you; then perhaps you will change your ways of thinking."

then the wood began to sing. all the birds sang; and the flowers raised their heads and sang too. the smallest leaf hummed with the rest, the fox stopped in the middle of eating a fat chicken and beat time with his brush, the wind blew through the branches and played an organ accompaniment to the song of the wood:

"merrier meeting was never yet

than the festal wood discloses,

when wood-ruff nestles by violet

in a cluster of sweet wild roses.

"small birds in the brake fly up and down

nor ever a bird flies single

and the woodman twines for his lass a crown

where berries and beech commingle.

"roe, fox and hare hold revel all,

thro' flowerage the wee worm glances;

there great and small a-dancing fall

and the sun up in heaven dances."

"what do you say to that?" asked the wood.

the heath said nothing. but, next year, he came over the fence.

"are you mad?" screamed the wood. "why, i forbade you to cross the fence!"

"you are not my mistress," said the heath. "i am doing as i said i would."

then the wood called the red fox and shook her branches so that a quantity of beech-mast fell upon him and remained hanging in his skin:

"run across to the heath, foxie, and scatter the beech-mast out there!" said the wood.

"right you are!" said the fox and jogged away.

and the hare did the same and the marten and the mouse. and the crow lent a hand, for old acquaintance' sake, and the wind took hold and blew and shook the branches till the mast flew far out into the heath.

"that's it!" said the wood. "now let's see what comes of that."

"yes, let us!" said the heath.

a certain time passed and the wood grew green and withered and the heath spread more and more and they did not talk to each other. but, one fine spring day, tiny little new-born beeches and oaks peeped up from the ground round about in the heather.

"what do you say now?" asked the wood, triumphantly. "my trees shall grow year after year, till they become tall and strong. then they shall close their tops over you: no sun shall shine, no rain shall fall upon you; and you shall die, as a punishment for your presumption."

but the heath shook his black twigs earnestly:

"you don't know me," he said. "i am stronger than you think. your trees will never turn green in me. i have bound the earth under me as firm as iron and your roots can't go through it. just wait till next year! then the little fellows you are so pleased with will all be dead."

"you're lying," said the wood.

but she was frightened.