No doubt I had told him sometime earlier to grub out all the bird-cherry

When I came on the scene his axe had already bitten a good foot out of the trunk; and the sap was squealing its complaint at each blow of the axe.

“Oh, well, perhaps it’s all for the good,” I sighed, taking up an axe and lending a hand.

With the chips flying about and the sweet smell of freshly hewn wood in my nostrils, all my doubts about the bird-cherry vanished. My mind was now set on felling the tree. And when we laid aside our axes and put our shoulders to the tree, trying to push it over, I felt a sense of triumph course through my veins. We heaved hard: the leaves trembled, showering us with dewdrops and little white bouquets of petals.

And then an unnerving sound came from inside the very soul of that tree. It was as if someone was screaming in unbearable pain, a tearing, wrenching, long drawn-out scream.

Gripped by a mixture of fear and sorrow, we hastily gave a last heave and, with a heartrending, sobbing sigh, the tree shuddered and fell.

After the first crash, the branches and blossoms lay trembling for a while, then lay still. For several moments, the woodman and I stood silent, unable to speak. Then, in the awkward hush, my companion muttered:

“Whew, she don’t die easy, Sir!“

A lump in my throat blocked my words, and I turned quickly to make my way back to the house. I did not dare glance back.

LITTLE PHILIP WHO WANTED
TO GO TO SCHOOL

Philip was too young to go to school’ But when, at the end of the summer holidays, the older children went off to school, Philip got ready to go too.

His mother was surprised.

“Where are you going, Philip?”

“To school”

“But you’re still too young,” she said with a smile.

His playmates were all in school Father had gone off early that morning to work. And now mother had gone out shopping. So Philip was left at home alone — apart from Grannie, who was still asleep.

Before long he was bored all by himself. And with Grannie snoring softly in the next room, he crept into the hall, put on his coat and, not finding his own cap, picked up father’s old fur hat, and set off through the snow to school.

The school stood beyond the village by the old church. To reach it Philip had to walk down the village street and up a hill. As he was walking past some cottages, however, the guard dogs — a terrier and a fierce Alsatian — began to snap at his heels. He began to run, then stumbled and fell. Just then an old man came out of a nearby cottage and drove off the dogs.

“Hey, young fellow-me-lad, what’s your hurry?” he asked kindly

But Philip gathered himself up and hurried off as best he could through the snow. In no time at all he arrived at the school and quickly dodged through the big doors. No one was to be seen in the hall, though he could hear voices from behind a door.

All of a sudden, doubt seized him: What would the teacher say? If he returned home, though, he risked being bitten by the dogs.

“Why aren’t you in class?” snapped a gruff voice behind him.

It was the school janitor.

“In you go, shoo-shoo.”

So little Philip opened the door of the classroom, taking off his father’s hat as he went. The class was full of children, each chattering away, as a tall schoolmaster in a long red scarf paced up and down between the desks.

“What do you want, boy?” shouted the lanky fellow at Philip.

The lad stood silently in the doorway, looking down at his felt boots.

“Well, speak up, who are you?“

Philip kept silent.

“Have you no tongue, boy? Go back home if you cannot speak“

Philip wanted to speak so much. But the words stuck in his throat. He looked up at the teacher and burst into tears.

At that the man took pity on him and, putting his arm around Philip’s shoulders, he turned to the class, asking if anyone knew him.

“He’s Philip, Michael’s brother,” said a voice. “He can’t wait to come to school, but his mother says he’s too young.”

“Ah-ha,” exclaimed the teacher, stroking his beard. “Well, go and sit on the bench, alongside your brother. Later I’ll have a talk with your mother about your coming to school.”

When the teacher came to show Philip the alphabet, he was surprised to find the boy already knew it. He could even read a little.

“Let’s see you spell your name, if you can,” said the teacher with a smile.

“Fee-Fi-Lee-Li-Ip-Pi.”

All the class laughed.

“Well done,” said the teacher. “Who taught you to spell?“

Philip now grew bolder.

“Michael did. But I. . . I’m very quick at learning. ...