And the fox rolled on the ground at the foot of the beech trees and got his fur full of the prickly fruits, and ran with them far out into the country. The bear did the same, and grinned into the bargain at the old oak while he lay and rested in the shadow of the beeches. The field-mouse was beside himself with joy over his new food, and thought that beech nuts tasted much nicer than acorns. All around new little beech trees shot up, which grew just as fast as their parents, and looked as green and as happy as if they did not know what an uneasy conscience was. But the old oak gazed sadly out over the wood. The light-green beech leaves were peeping out everywhere, and the oaks were sighing and bewailing their distress to one another. "They are taking our strength out of us," they said, and shook as much as the beeches around would let them. "The land is ours no longer." One bough died after another, and the storm broke them off and cast them on the ground. The old oak had now only a few leaves left at the very top. "The end is near," he said gravely. By this time there were many more human beings in the land than there were before, and they made haste to hew down the oaks while there were still some remaining. "Oak timber is better than beech timber," they said. "At last we get a little appreciation," said the old oak, "but we have to pay for it with our lives." Then he said to the beech trees,-- "What was I thinking of when I helped you on in your young days? What an old stupid I was! Before that, we oak trees were lords in the land; and now every year I see my brothers around me perishing in the fight against you. It will soon be all over with me, and not one of my acorns has sprouted under your shade. But before I die I should like to know the name you give to such conduct." "That will not take long to say, old friend," answered the beeches. "We call it _competition_, and that is not any discovery of our own. It is competition which rules the world." "I do not know these foreign words of yours," said the oak. "I call it mean ingratitude." And then he died. The Dragon-Fly and the Water-lily [Illustration: The Dragon-Fly: and the Water-lily:] In among the green bushes and trees ran the brook. Tall, straight-growing rushes stood along its banks, and whispered to the wind. Out in the middle of the water floated the water-lily, with its white flower and its broad green leaves. Generally it was quite calm on the brook. But when, now and again, it chanced that the wind took a little turn over it, there was a rustle in the rushes, and the water-lily sometimes ducked completely under the waves. Then its leaves were lifted up in the air and stood on their edges, so that the thick green stalks that came up from the very bottom of the stream found that it was all they could do to hold fast. All day long the larva of the dragon-fly was crawling up and down the water-lily's stalk.