in the sun.

"I wish they would use _us_ for building ships," whispered the
willows. "I wish they would let _us_ die for our country. All our
brave men and boys have gone to fight; they do not even need us for
cricket-bats now," they sighed sadly. "I wish they were back and
wanting us to play games with."

And then one day, when the young willow-trees had grown older and more
wise, the woodmen came again to the quiet stream.

"What have they come for? What will they do with us?" whispered the
willow-trees as they shivered and trembled on the reedy margin of the
stream. The kingfisher was preening his small many-hued body in the
sun.

"I'll find out," he said, and flashed away like a fragment of rainbow
gone astray. Almost by the time the first stroke of the axe rang out
over the sleeping meadows he was back again.

"You are going to die for your country," he told them. "They are using
willows to make new limbs for our brave soldiers and sailors who have
lost their own; they are using willows to make new limbs for our brave
sailors and soldiers." Up and down the stream he darted, spreading the
wonderful news; and so the willow-trees were comforted.

"Ssshhh, ssshhh," they whispered. "Ssshhh! ssshhh! for our brave
solders and sailors, for our dear sailors and soldiers--ssshhh,
ssshhh."