"Did Jack Frost bite little Willow Tree?" "He don't bite 'em less'n dey gits hard-haid'd an' sassy him. But hyah come lit'le Aspin, an' lit'le Sugar Maple, an' dey says Lit'le 'Simmon Tree an' de res' uv de tree chillun is reddy ter come, soon es ole Unk' Sun warm up de room fur 'em er lit'le. Bimeby, all uv 'em gits der haids an' hands out, 'cep'n Pine Tree chile. Ev'ybody axin' Miss Vilet, an' Miss Honey-suckle an' all uv 'em wharbouts Pine Tree chile wus at. Pres'ntly ole Tall Pine say, he do: 'Jes' 'ten' ter yer own biznes', my boy know whut he doin'. He ain' gwine come up hyah rippin' an' tar'in' 'roun', an' den hatt'r stan' dar an' die in his tracks. Whin enny er my fambly comes up in de woods, dey comes ter stay,' sez he: 'De res' er you all goes off in de winter time, but me an' my fokes stays right hyah; darfo', I done lernt my chillun ter git er good start 'fo' dey comes thu!' "I tell yer, Pine Tree chile wus workin' hard ter tap wat'r so he kin keep up wid de res' er de trees atter he jines de woods." "How can he tap water?" interrupted Willis. "Dey taps hit wid der roots. Sometimes er pine tree whut ain't no big'r'n my han' is got roots fifteen foots long. An' I tell yer Pine Tree tellin' de trufe, his boy know der fambly bleege ter have wat'r ter live on, an' he ain't gwine take no stan' in dis woel he know he can't keep up wid. De trees dey talks 'bout him mouty bad at fus', but he don't pay no 'tenshun ter 'em, he jes' mine his own biznes', an' bimeby he git big 'nuf ter look on de top uv all 'em." "Did he look down on the top of Mist'r Wise Oak?" broke in Willis. "Tall Pine so high an' straight hisse'f, he ain't thinkin' 'bout de top er nobody's haid. He know Mist'r Wise Oak's de big'es' man on Tinker Knob an' he proud ter keep comp'ny wid him." "Who was running against Wise Oak?" the race for mayor still lingering in his mind. "Well, son, dar wus er heap uv 'em dat want ter git in, but dey can't git nobody ter put 'em up. Lombody Poplar ax Holl'r Tree ter put him up, but Holl'r Tree tell him ter look at hisse'f, an' see how fokes 'ud t'ar him ter pieces. He say he dunno howcum. "Holl'r Tree say, 'Whut's you done ter make fokes vote fur you? You doan give no fruit, an' you too stingy ter eb'n stretch yer arms out an' make shade fur ennybody.' "Lombody say, 'Yer doan want me ter spile m' shape does yer?' "Holl'r Tree say, 'Dat's hit. You thinks too much 'bout yer own se'f ter serve de woods.' But I ain' got time ter tell yer all whut de trees talks erbout. I jes' wanter tell yer 'bout whut Mist'r bad 'Simmon Tree got.