One morning, just as the sun was peeping over the edge of the world, the big Blue-gum woke up and stretched his limbs and waited for the Little Red House to say “Good morning.”  The Blue-gum always waited for the greeting because he was the older, and he liked to have proper respect shown to him by young folk, but the Little Red House didn’t say a word.

The big Blue-gum waited and waited; but the Little Red House wouldn’t speak.

After a while the Blue-gum said rather crossly, “You seem to be out of sorts this morning.”

But the Little Red House wouldn’t say a word.

“You certainly do seem as if you had a pain somewhere,” said the Blue-gum.  “And you look funny.  You ought to see yourself!”

“Indeed?” snapped the Little Red House, raising his eyebrows just as a puff of wind went by.  “I can’t always be playing the fool, like some people.”

“I’ve lived on this mountain, tree and sapling, for over a hundred years,” replied the big Blue-gum very severely, “and never before have I been treated with such disrespect.  When trees become houses they seem to lose their manners.”

“Forgive me,” cried the Little Red House.  “I didn’t mean to be rude.  I was just listening.  There are things going on inside me that I don’t like.”

“I hope they aren’t ill-treating you,” said the Blue-gum.

“They are going to leave me!” sighed the Little Red House.

“And they are laughing quite happily, as if they were glad about it.  There’s a nice thing for you!—­Going to leave me, and laughing about it!”

“But perhaps you are wrong,” said the big Blue-gum, who was not so hard-hearted as he seemed.

“I always know,” moaned the Little Red House.  “I can’t be mistaken.  Sym was singing his Tinker’s song this morning long before the sun was up.  And then I heard him tell Emily Ann not to forget her umbrella.  That means that she is going; and the little dog is going, and I shall be all alone.”

“Well,” answered the Blue-gum rather stiffly, “you still have me for company.”

“I know,” sighed the Little Red House.  “Don’t think I’m ungrateful.  But, when they both go away, I shan’t be really and truly a home again until they come back—­just an empty house; and it makes me miserable.  How would you like to be an empty house?”

“Some day I might be,” replied the Blue-gum, “if I don’t grow too old.  There is some fine timber in me yet.”

Suddenly there was a great clattering and stamping inside the Little House, and Sym began to sing his Tinker’s song.

“Kettles and pans!  Kettles and pans! 
All the broad earth is the tinkering man’s—­
The green leafy lane or the fields are his home,
The road or the river, where’er he way roam. 
He roves for a living and rests where he can. 
Then bring out your kettle! ho! kettle or pan!”

There’s a nice thing for you!” said the Little Red House bitterly.  “What kind of a song do you call that?  Any old place is good enough for his home, and I am just nothing!”