Then one day the woodcutters came and the sound of their axes rang
out over the meadows by the quiet stream. A great many of the older
willows were laid low that day, and the young trees bent and whispered
among themselves, "Ssshhh, ssshhh, what will become of them? what will
they make of them? Ssshhh, ssshhh." This time the kingfisher answered
them, for he was just back from a fishing expedition.

"They will make them into cricket-bats," he said; "that is what
willow-trees are used for." And he sat and preened his gay little body
in the sun.

"Sss-shameful! Sss-shameful!" whispered the young willow-trees. "To
cut and maim and carve us up just for men and boys to play with.
Sss-shame! Sss-shame! If they only used us for tools to work with
or for swords to fight with, we shouldn't mind; but just for sport!
Sss-shame! Sss-shame!" And they trembled and whispered among
themselves on the edge of the silver stream.

But although the kingfisher happened to have a very little body he had
a very big mind, and he explained to the young willow-trees that, even
if cricket might be only a game, yet it trained boys and men for the
Battle of Life. But the willow-trees were young and of course they
thought they knew best, so they went on whispering among themselves,
"Sss-shame! sss-shame!"

After the War began the kingfisher used to bring back what news he
could gather on his fishing expeditions. "They are cutting down the
oaks in the lower spinney," he told them one day. "I expect they will
be used for building ships." And he preened his little dazzling body