The Tree that Sat Down

We will tell you, because it will help to show you what a really horrible little boy Sam was.

There was nothing in the boxes.

Nothing at all.

‘But how could he get the animals to buy nothing?’ you may enquire. ‘Wouldn’t the animals call in PC Monkey and have the law on him?’

No, they couldn’t. Because, you see, Sam was very clever. He knew that ‘nothing’ has many names; in German it is nichts, in French it is rien. All over the world men make different sounds when they want to describe that which is without sound or shape or weight or life.

So Sam was going to sell the animals ‘Nichts’ and ‘Rien’ and if any of them made a fuss about it, he’d say that it wasn’t his fault that they were so ignorant. Anyway, he had a shrewd idea that they wouldn’t complain; he knew that an animal hates to be made to look a fool. If you had ever seen the look of pain in the eyes of a circus dog you would know what I mean. He was meant to run on all fours, free as the wind, through the long grass, through sunlight and shadow, but men force him to spend half his life staggering over the sawdust on two legs, blinking in the glare of arc-lights.

*

At nine o’clock precisely Sam’s grandfather came out of his cave, beating a big drum. That was the signal that the shop was open, and immediately all the animals began to swarm around, twittering, and purring, and squeaking, and sniffing.

Of course, there were lots of things besides the boxes full of Nothing … real things, I mean. Most of them – though the animals did not know it – were quite useless. There were heaps of brightly coloured glass, which Sam described as rubies and diamonds and emeralds, though they only came from Woolworth’s; there were all sorts of things like that. But it was the boxes full of Nothing which interested the animals most; they longed to know what was inside them; and soon there was quite a queue in front of the counter.

‘What is in these boxes?’ enquired Mrs Rabbit.

‘Nichts,’ replied Sam, with a grin.

‘Nichts?’ Mrs Rabbit looked puzzled. She had no idea what ‘nichts’ were, but she did not like to show her ignorance, because Mrs Hare was standing beside her. And Mrs Hare always put on superior airs, simply because she could run so fast.

‘Ah, nichts!’ repeated Mrs Rabbit, nodding and trying to look wise. ‘Nichts,’ she said again, wondering if they were anything like nuts. Probably that was what they were – a new sort of nut. But then again they might be nothing of the sort. They might be nightdresses or they might be nail-scissors. She tried to find out a little more.

‘What quality nichts?’ she asked.

‘Medium,’ observed Sam.

‘Medium,’ repeated Mrs Rabbit. That told her nothing at all, though it seemed to suggest that they were not nuts. You would not describe nuts as ‘medium’. Perhaps it was nightdresses after all, in which case she did not want to buy them; she had no use for medium nightdresses, being a very fat rabbit.

She turned to Mrs Hare. Maybe she would be able to learn something from her, without revealing that she did not know what ‘nichts’ were.

‘Ah, good afternoon, Mrs Hare!’

Mrs Hare gave one of her superior bows.

‘I was just thinking of buying some nichts,’ said Mrs Rabbit, fumbling with her shopping-basket.

‘Then why don’t you buy some and have done with it?’ snapped Mrs Hare. ‘You’re holding up the queue.’

Mrs Rabbit gave a nervous giggle. ‘It’s just a question of whether you think the medium variety is the best?’

She looked Mrs Hare straight in the eyes as she said this.

Now between you and me, Mrs Hare was just as ignorant as Mrs Rabbit about nichts, but being so superior she did not betray her ignorance. Without batting an eyelid, she returned Mrs Rabbit’s stare, and drawled:

‘Well, it depends on what you are going to use the nichts for.’

‘Yes, of course. It would depend on that.’

‘What were you going to use the nichts for?’ demanded Mrs Hare.

This was too much for Mrs Rabbit. She could not say, ‘I am going to eat them,’ because they might be nightdresses, and no lady would eat a nightdress – only shady girls like Miss Moth ever indulged in such a peculiar diet. On the other hand, she could not say ‘I am going to wear them,’ because they might be nuts, and you could not possibly wear a nut unless you balanced it on the top of your head, which would look ridiculous. Nor could she run the risk of saying, ‘I am going to cut my nails with them.’ They might be nail-scissors, it is true, but again they might not. And you could not possibly cut your nails with a nut or with a nightdress. Out of the question.

So she gave no direct reply; she merely lowered her eyes, fumbled in her bag, and asked:

‘How much?’

‘Five shillings,’ snapped Sam.

‘Five shillings!’ gasped Mrs Rabbit. It was far more than she could afford. It would mean that the whole Rabbit family would have to stay indoors, in the burrow, next weekend instead of going for a ramble in the wood. But she had gone too far to draw back … she could not admit to poverty in the presence of that dreadfully superior Mrs Hare.

‘I will have one box.’

Sam wrapped up a box for her in a cabbage leaf, tied it with a few strands of hay and sealed it with a drop of gum which he had stolen from the fir tree. It looked such a grand parcel that Mrs Rabbit felt it must be worth five shillings.

As Sam handed it to her, he said, ‘I suppose you understand how to undo this parcel?’

‘How to undo it?’ Mrs Rabbit blinked at him in bewilderment. She did not know what he meant.

‘You must not undo it in daylight,’ Sam said. ‘Otherwise, all the goodness goes out of the nichts. They must never be exposed to the sun.’

‘No,’ muttered Mrs Rabbit. ‘I quite understand.’

Poor thing. She did not understand at all. As she gathered up the parcel her brain was in a whirl. Nuts? Obviously not nuts … it didn’t make any difference if you exposed nuts to the sun. Nor, for that matter, nail-scissors or nightdresses. What could these nichts be? Perhaps they were some sort of photographic film? In which case, what would Mr Rabbit say when he learned that she had spent five whole shillings on a photographic film, considering that they were far too poor to afford a camera to fit it into?

She felt on the verge of tears. She wanted to go off, all by herself, and hide in the bracken till the darkness came and she could undo her box and see what it was that she had really bought. She was just about to hurry away when she caught Mrs Hare’s eye. For the first time in her life she thought that Mrs Hare looked embarrassed; she kept on biting her lower lip, and there was a nervous twitch to her tail. Was it possible, after all, that Mrs Hare had been bluffing, that she too did not know what nichts were? The thought made Mrs Rabbit feel much better. So instead of running off with her parcel, she hovered in the background pretending to examine some of the other goods on the shelves.

*

It was now Mrs Hare’s turn in the queue.

She strolled up to the counter, put down her bag, and sniffed haughtily.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Hare,’ said Sam. ‘May I have the pleasure of selling you some nichts?’

‘Thank you, no.’ Mrs Hare had not the least idea what nichts were but she was not going to show it. Nor was she going to be such a fool as Mrs Rabbit, and buy something she might not want.

‘I have already a large supply of nichts,’ she said. ‘At “The Burrows”.’

That was the name of Mrs Hare’s house. When Mrs Rabbit heard these words, she felt a little better. If Mrs Hare kept plenty of nichts at ‘The Burrows’ it must be all right. ‘The Burrows’ was a very superior residence.

Mrs Hare leaned forward over the counter. She pointed to some boxes done up in pale pink paper.

‘What is in those?’ she drawled.

‘Rien,’ replied Sam.