Father said beech trees didn't amount to much; but I first learned all about them from that one, and what it taught me made me almost worship them always.
There were the big trunk with great rough spreading roots, the bark in little ridges in places, smooth purple gray between, big lichens for ornament, the low flat branches, the waxy, wavy-edged leaves, with clear veins, and the delicious nuts in their little brown burrs.

The Princess and I both stared at the branches and waited while a little breath of air stirred the leaves, the sunshine flickered, and a cricket sang a sort of lonesome song.

Laddie leaned against the tree again, and he was thinking so hard, to look at him made me begin to repeat to myself the beech part of that beautiful churchyard poem our big folks recite: "There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide he would stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by." Only he was studying so deeply you could almost feel what was in his mind, and it was not about the brook at all, even if one ran close.
Soon he began talking.
"Not so bad!" he said.

"You might think worse.

I admit the cleanliness, I strive for decency, I delight in being humanely interesting, even for an hour; you might think worse, much worse! You might consider me a 'clown.' 'A country clod.' Rather a lowdown, common thing, a 'clod,' don't you think?
And a 'clown'! And 'gross' on top of that!" "What can you mean ?" asked the Princess.
"Since you don't seem to share the estimate of me, I believe I'll tell you," said Laddie.