Give me another slice of barley bread to
help me on my journey, and tell me what present
I shall bring you at the twelvemonth's end.''
Scrub would have been angry with his brother
for cutting so large a slice, their store of barley
being low, but his mind was occupied with what
present it would be most prudent to ask for.
``There are two trees hard by the well that lies
at the world's end,'' said the cuckoo; ``one of
them is called the golden tree, for its leaves are all
of beaten gold. Every winter they fall into the
well with a sound like scattered coin, and I know
not what becomes of them. As for the other, it is
always green like a laurel. Some call it the wise,
and some the merry, tree. Its leaves never fall,
but they that get one of them keep a blithe heart
in spite of all misfortunes, and can make themselves
as merry in a hut as in a palace.''
``Good master cuckoo, bring me a leaf off that
tree!'' cried Spare.
``Now, brother, don't be a fool!'' said Scrub;
``think of the leaves of beaten gold! Dear master
cuckoo, bring me one of them!''
Before another word could be spoken the
cuckoo had flown out of the open door, and was
shouting its spring cry over moor and meadow.
The brothers were poorer than ever that year.
Nobody would send them a single shoe to mend,
and Scrub and Spare would have left the village
but for their barley-field and their cabbage-
garden.
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