``Beautiful birch
tree,'' it said, ``my wing is broken, and my friends
have flown away. May I live among your
branches till they come back to me?''
``No, indeed,'' answered the birch tree, drawing
her fair green leaves away. ``We of the great
forest have our own birds to help. I can do
nothing for you.''
``The birch is not very strong,'' said the little
bird to itself, ``and it might be that she could not
hold me easily. I will ask the oak.'' So the bird
said: ``Great oak tree, you are so strong, will you
not let me live on your boughs till my friends
come back in the springtime?''
``In the springtime!'' cried the oak. ``That is a
long way off. How do I know what you might do
in all that time? Birds are always looking for
something to eat, and you might even eat up some
of my acorns.''
``It may be that the willow will be kind to me,''
thought the bird, and it said: ``Gentle willow, my
wing is broken, and I could not fly to the south
with the other birds. May I live on your branches
till the springtime?''
The willow did not look gentle then, for she
drew herself up proudly and said: ``Indeed, I do
not know you, and we willows never talk to people
whom we do not know. Very likely there are
trees somewhere that will take in strange birds.
Leave me at once.''
The poor little bird did not know what to do.
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