“By far the simplest way,” whispered the Willow, “would be to drown them in one of my rivers.”
And the Pig grunted between his teeth:
“In my opinion, the great thing would be to eat the little girl. … She ought to be very tender. …”
“Silence!” roared the Oak. “What we have to decide is which of us shall have the honour of striking the first blow!”
“That honour falls to you, our King!” said the Fir-tree.
“Alas, I am too old!” replied the Oak. “I am blind and infirm! To you, my evergreen brother, be the glory, in my place, of striking the decisive blow that shall set us free.”
But the Fir-tree declined the honour on the pretext that he was already to have the pleasure of burying the two victims and that he was afraid of rousing jealousy. He suggested the Beech, as owning the best club.
“It is out of the question,” said the Beech. “You know I am worm-eaten! Ask the Elm and the Cypress.”
Thereupon the Elm began to moan and groan: a mole had twisted his great toe the night before and he could hardly stand upright; and the Cypress excused himself and so did the Poplar, who declared that he was ill and shivering with fever. Then the Oak’s indignation flared up:
“You are afraid of Man!” he exclaimed. “Even those unprotected and unarmed little Children inspire you with terror! … Well, I shall go forth alone, old and shaky and blind as I am, against the hereditary enemy! … Where is he? …”
And groping his way with his stick, he moved towards Tyltyl, growling as he went.
Our poor little friend had been very much afraid during the last few minutes. The Cat had left him suddenly, saying that she wanted to smooth down the excitement, and had not come back. Mytyl nestled trembling against him; and he felt very lonely, very unhappy among those dreadful people whose anger he was beginning to notice. When he saw the Oak marching on him with a threatening air, he drew his pocketknife and defied him like a man:
“Is it I he’s after, that old one, with his big stick?” he cried.
But, at the sight of the knife, Man’s irresistible weapon, all the Trees shook with fright and rushed at the Oak to hold him back. There was a struggle; and the old King, conquered by the weight of years, threw away his stick:
“Shame on us!” he shouted. “Shame on us! Let the Animals deliver us! …”
The Animals were only waiting for this! All wanted to be revenged together. Fortunately, their very eagerness caused a scrimmage which delayed the murder of the dear little ones.
Mytyl uttered piercing screams.
“Don’t be afraid,” said Tyltyl, doing his best to protect her. “I have my knife.”
“The little chap means to die game!” said the Cock.
“That’s the one I shall eat first,” said the Pig, eyeing Mytyl greedily.
“What have I done to all of you?” asked Tyltyl.
“Nothing at all, my little man,” said the Sheep. “Eaten my little brother, my two sisters, my three uncles, my aunt, my grandpapa and my grandmamma. … Wait, wait, when you’re down, you shall see that I have teeth also. …”
And so the Sheep and the Horse, who were the greatest cowards, waited for the little fellow to be knocked down before they dared take their share in the spoil.
While they were talking, the Wolf and the Bear treacherously attacked Tyltyl from behind and pushed him over. It was an awful moment. All the Animals, seeing him on the ground, tried to get at him. The boy raised himself to one knee and brandished his knife. Mytyl uttered yells of distress; and, to crown all, it suddenly became dark.
Tyltyl called wildly for assistance:
“Help! Help! … Tylô! Tylô! … To the rescue! … Where is Tylette? … Come! Come! …”
The Cat’s voice was heard in the distance, where she was craftily keeping out of sight:
“I can’t come!” she whined. “I’m wounded!”
All this time, plucky little Tyltyl was defending himself as best he could, but he was alone against all of them, felt that he was going to be killed and, in a faltering voice, cried once more:
“Help! … Tylô! Tylô! … I can’t hold out! … There are too many of them! … The Bear! … The Pig! The Wolf! The Fir-tree! The Beech! … Tylô! Tylô! Tylô! …”
Then the Dog came leaping along, dragging his broken bonds and elbowing his way through the Trees and Animals and flung himself before his master, whom he defended furiously:
“Here, my little god! Don’t be afraid! Have at them! I know how to use my teeth!”
All the Trees and Animals raised a loud outcry:
“Renegade! … Idiot! … Traitor! … Felon! … Simpleton! … Sneak! … Leave him! … He’s a dead man! … Come over to us! …”
The Dog fought on:
“Never! Never! … I alone against all of you! … Never! Never! … True to the gods, to the best, to the greatest! … Take care, my little master, here’s the Bear! … Look out for the Bull!”
Tyltyl vainly tried to defend himself:
“I’m done for, Tylô! It was a blow from the Elm! My hand’s bleeding!” And he dropped to the ground. “No, I can hold out no longer!”
“They are coming!” said the Dog. “I hear somebody! … We are saved! It is Light! … Saved! Saved! … See, they’re afraid, they’re retreating! … Saved, my little king! …”
And, sure enough, Light was coming towards them; and with her the dawn rose over the forest, which became light as day.
“What is it? … What has happened?” she asked, quite alarmed at the sight of the little ones and their dear Tylô covered with wounds and bruises. “Why, my poor boy, didn’t you know? Turn the diamond quickly!”
Tyltyl hastened to obey; and immediately the souls of all the Trees rushed back into their trunks, which closed upon them. The souls of the Animals also disappeared; and there was nothing to be seen but a cow and a sheep browsing peacefully in the distance. The forest became harmless once more; and Tyltyl looked around him in amazement:
“No matter,” he
