Then, confidently and with an always-growing love, the ivy would cling
more closely to the oak-tree, and no harm came to her.

"How good the oak-tree is to the ivy!" said the other trees of the
greenwood. The ivy heard them, and she loved the oak-tree more and more.
And, although the ivy was now the most umbrageous and luxuriant vine in
all the greenwood, the oak-tree regarded her still as the tender little
thing he had laughingly called to his feet that spring day, many years
before,--the same little ivy he had told about the stars, the clouds, and
the birds. And, just as patiently as in those days he had told her of
these things, he now repeated other tales the winds whispered to his
topmost boughs,--tales of the ocean in the East, the prairies in the West,
the ice-king in the North, and the flower-queen in the South. Nestling
upon his brave breast and in his stout arms, the ivy heard him tell these
wondrous things, and she never wearied with the listening.

"How the oak-tree loves her!" said the ash. "The lazy vine has naught to
do but to twine herself about the arrogant oak-tree and hear him tell his
wondrous stories!"

The ivy heard these envious words, and they made her very sad; but she
said nothing of them to the oak-tree, and that night the oak-tree rocked
her to sleep as he repeated the lullaby a zephyr was singing to him.

"There is a storm coming over the hills," said the oak-tree one day. "The
east wind tells me so; the swallows fly low in the air, and the sky is
dark. Clasp me round about with thy dear arms, my beloved, and nestle
close unto my bosom, and no harm shall befall thee."

"I have no fear," murmured the ivy; and she clasped her arms most closely