.. He looks far from well
this evening.... Don't you think he is growing very old?... What can his
age be?... The Fir-tree says he is four thousand; but I am sure that he
exaggerates.... Listen; he will tell us all about it....
(_The_ OAK _comes slowly forward. He is fabulously old, crowned with
mistletoe and clad in a long green gown edged with moss and lichen. He is
blind; his white beard streams in the wind. He leans with one hand on a
knotty stick and with the other on a young_ OAKLING, _who serves as
his guide. The Blue Bird is perched on his shoulder. At his approach, the
other trees draw themselves up in a row and bow respectfully_.)
TYLTYL
He has the Blue Bird!... Quick! Quick!... Here!... Give it to me!...
THE TREES
Silence!...
THE CAT (_to_ TYLTYL)
Take of your hat. It's the Oak!...
THE OAK (_to_ TYLTYL)
Who are you?....
TYLTYL
I am Tyltyl, sir.... When can I have the Blue Bird?...
THE OAK
Tyltyl, the wood-cutter's son?...
TYLTYL
Yes, sir....
THE OAK
Your father has done us much harm.... In my family alone, he has put to
death six hundred of my sons, four hundred and seventy-five uncles and
aunts, twelve hundred cousins of both sexes, three hundred and eighty
daughters-in-law, and twelve thousand great-grandsons!.
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