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Updated: May 3, 2025
"You have no grip at all to keep your branches in with. They hang quite slack on every side, just as if you were a common beech or birch or oak or whatever the ordinary trees are called." "Do you call me ordinary, you windbag?" said the oak. The poplar did not mind a jot what the oak said, but went on admonishing the willow-tree: "You should take example by the squire's wife," he said.
"Poor Willow-Tree!" said the wild rose-bush. "Thank you," said the willow-tree. "I still feel a little stunned. It is no trifle to lose the whole of one's crown. I don't quite know what's to become of me." "It's a terrible scandal," said the nearest poplar. "A wholly unprecedented family-scandal.
But the oak on the little hillock in the fields called out to the willow-tree: "Pst!... Pst!... Willow-Tree!... Are you asleep?" "I can't sleep," said the willow-tree. "It's rumbling and gnawing and trickling and seething inside me. I can feel it coming lower and lower. I don't know what it is, but it makes me so melancholy." "You're becoming hollow," said the oak.
"I mean to present him on his next birthday with a dozen pocket-handkerchiefs, embroidered in the corner with an urn and a willow-tree." "An urn, you ridiculous child!" returned Sophy. "That means that somebody is dead." "Don't throw cold water on my charming conceits!" pleaded Hatty. "Now go in and face my Aunt Kezia if you dare." We found her cutting out flannel petticoats in the parlour.
Then there was the well-field, where a little stream that fed the well clattered over pebbles, made leaps so sudden down tiny inclines that we called the commotion a waterfall, and widened under a willow-tree into a pool, brown and still, where, tradition said, had once been seen a trout.
"No nothing I was looking out of the window one day, and seeing the willow-tree blow; and that looked over my shoulder; as you know Hans Andersen says his stories did." "It is just like you! exactly as it can be." "Things put themselves in my head," said Fleda, tucking another splinter into the fire. "Isn't this better than a chandelier?" "Ten times!"
There was a horrid boy who had been shooting at him all the morning with his air-gun: "I am really preserved at this time of the year," he said. "But what does that brat of a boy care about that? And, if I must lose my life, I would rather be caught in a proper snare." "I should have thought it would be better to be shot," said the willow-tree. "Then you're done with for good and all."
Yes, I know it looks like an old willow-stump, but just come over here...." They stepped out of the carriage and on to the stone, one after the other, and admired the garden in the willow-tree's top. "If the hoop wasn't there, I should burst," said the willow-tree. "What an honour and what luck for a wretched cripple like me! Only think: the squire really climbed up and ate strawberries off me!
And his fellow-members of the avenue were greatly displeased with him: "Isn't it possible for you to grow taller in stature?" asked the nearest poplar. "You ought never to have been here, but, once you've joined the avenue through an accident, I should like to ask you to stretch yourself up a bit." "I'll do my best," answered the willow-tree. "I fear your best isn't good enough," said the poplar.
Yet still he seemed conscious that the willow-tree was stretching its branches over him; in his dreaming state the tree appeared like a strong, old man the "willow-father" himself, who had taken his tired son up in his arms to carry him back to the land of home, to the garden of his childhood, on the bleak open shores of Kjoge.
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