Then the Oak, trembling with rage, began to lay a terrible charge against Daddy Tyl:
“In my family alone,” he said, “your father has put to death six hundred of my sons, four hundred and seventy-five uncles and aunts, twelve hundred cousins of both sexes, three hundred and eighty daughters-in-law and twelve thousand great-grandsons!”
No doubt his anger made him exaggerate a little; but Tyltyl listened without protest and said, very politely:
“I beg your pardon, Sir, for disturbing you. … The Cat said that you would tell us where the Blue Bird is.”
The Oak was too old not to know all there was to know about Men and Animals. He smiled in his beard when he guessed the trap laid by the Cat and he felt very glad at it, for he had long wished to revenge the whole forest for the slavery to which Man had subjected it.
“It’s for the Fairy Bérylune’s little girl, who is very ill,” the boy continued.
“Enough!” said the Oak, silencing him. “I do not hear the Animals. … Where are they? … All this concerns them as much as us. … We, the Trees, must not assume the responsibility alone for the grave measures that have become necessary.”
“Here they come!” said the Fir-tree, looking over the top of the other Trees. “They are following the Rabbit. … I can see the souls of the Horse, the Bull, the Ox, the Cow, the Wolf, the Sheep, the Pig, the Goat, and the Bear. …”
All the Animals now arrived. They walked on their hind-legs and were dressed like human beings. They solemnly took up their positions in a circle among the Trees, all except the frivolous Goat, who began to skip down the avenues, and the Pig, who hoped to find some glorious truffles among the roots that had newly left the ground.
“Are all here present?” asked the Oak.
“The Hen could not leave her eggs,” said the Rabbit, “the Hare was out for a run, the Stag has pains in his horns and his corns, the Fox is ill—here is the doctor’s certificate—the Goose did not understand and the Turkey flew into a passion. …”
“Look!” whispered Tyltyl to Mytyl. “Aren’t they funny? They are just like the rich children’s fine toys in the windows at Christmas-time.”
The Rabbit especially made them laugh, with his cocked hat over his big ears, his blue, embroidered coat and his drum slung in front of him.
Meanwhile, the Oak was explaining the situation to his brothers the Trees and to the Animals. Treacherous Tylette had been quite right in reckoning on their hatred.
“The child you see before you,” said the Oak, “thanks to a talisman stolen from the powers of Earth, is able to take possession of our Blue Bird and thus to snatch from us the secret which we have kept since the origin of life. … Now we know enough of Man to entertain no doubt as to the fate which he reserves for us, once he is in possession of this secret. … Any hesitation would be both foolish and criminal. … It is a serious moment; the child must be done away with before it is too late. …”
“What is he saying?” asked Tyltyl, who could not make out what the old Tree was driving at.
The Dog was prowling round the Oak and now showed his fangs:
“Do you see my teeth, you old cripple?” he growled.
“He is insulting the Oak!” said the Beech indignantly.
“Drive him out!” shouted the Oak, angrily. “He’s a traitor!”
“What did I tell you?” whispered the Cat to Tyltyl. “I will arrange things. … But send him away.”
“Will you be off!” said Tyltyl to the Dog.
“Do let me worry the gouty old beggar’s moss slippers!” begged Tylô.
Tyltyl tried in vain to prevent him. The rage of Tylô, who understood the danger, knew no bounds; and he would have succeeded in saving his master, if the Cat had not thought of calling in the Ivy, who till then had kept his distance. The Dog pranced about like a madman, abusing everybody. He railed at the Ivy:
“Come on, if you dare, you old ball of twine, you!”
The onlookers growled; the Oak was pale with fury at seeing his authority denied; the Trees and the Animals were indignant, but, as they were cowards, not one of them dared protest; and the Dog would have settled all of them, if he had gone on with his rebellion. But Tyltyl threatened him harshly; and, suddenly yielding to his docile instincts, Tylô lay down at his master’s feet. Thus it is that our finest virtues are treated as faults, when we exercise them without discrimination.
From that moment, the Children were lost. The Ivy gagged and bound the poor Dog, who was then taken behind the Chestnut-tree and tied to his biggest root.
“Now,” cried the Oak, in a voice of thunder, “we can take counsel quietly. … This is the first time that it is given us to judge Man! I do not think that, after the monstrous injustice which we have suffered, there can remain the least doubt as to the sentence that awaits him. …”
One cry rang from every throat:
“Death! Death! Death!”
The poor Children did not at first understand their doom, for the Trees and Animals, who were more accustomed to talking their own special language, did not speak very distinctly; and, besides, the innocent Children could never imagine such cruelty!
“What is the matter with them?” asked the boy. “Are they displeased?”
“Don’t be alarmed,” said the Cat. “They are a little annoyed because Spring is late. …”
And she went on talking into Tyltyl’s ear, to divert his attention from what was happening.
While the trusting lad was listening to her fibs, the others were discussing which form of execution would be the most practical and the least dangerous. The Bull suggested a good butt with the horns; the Beech offered his highest branch to hang the little Children on; and the Ivy was already preparing a slipknot! The
