soon after, a blackbird came flying and perched on one of the tree's thickest branches. he flapped his wings and then rubbed his beak against the branch.

"you're welcome," said the apple-tree.

she knew that the blackbird always did like that, after he had been eating, and she was a courteous tree, when no one offended her.

"thank you," said the blackbird and went on rubbing his beak.

"you're working awfully hard to-day," said the tree.

"there's a stone on the side of my beak," said the blackbird. "it's there as if it were glued fast; and i can't get it off, however much i rub."

"what have you had to eat?"

"i had some beautiful white berries," said the blackbird. "i never tasted anything so good; and i am a judge of berries, as you know. it was somewhere ever so far away; and now i've been flying for a day and a half with this silly stone. every moment, i've been trying to get it off.... ah, there it goes, thank goodness! now it's on you, you old crab-apple-tree. you'll see, you will never get rid of it."

"just let it be," said the apple-tree, gaily, "and don't bother about me. it'll take to its legs, right enough, when it begins to rain and blow."

the blackbird flew away and the crab-apple-tree stood sunk in her own old thoughts, with the stone on her branch. in the evening, it came on to rain violently and the stone slipped slowly down the wet branch, until it reached the underside.

"now it will drop," thought the apple-tree.

but the stone did not drop. at night, a terrible storm broke loose and all the trees creaked and swayed to and fro. inside the keeper's garden, the orange-pippins and the russets fell to the ground by the bushel. but the stone stuck where it was.

"well, that's odd!" thought the crab-apple-tree.

and, when the dog came jogging along in the morning, the tree told him of the queer thing:

"what sort of a chap can it be?" she asked.

"i expect it's a flea," said the dog and rubbed himself. "one can never get rid of them. does it hop all over you? and bite you?"

"certainly not," replied the apple-tree. "last night, it slipped down quite gently to the underside of the branch; and, for that matter, it does me no harm."

"then it's not a flea," said the dog.