The trunk of the tree was covered with names and dates. Someone had cut KS L MT into the smooth gray bark and carved a heart around it.

“June 1902,” Marjorie read. “The tree must have been here for ages.”

“Longer than that.” The starling flew over to perch on the lowest branch.

“Take a look at this, Marge.” Nick pointed to some words cut deep into the tree.

STELLA’S TREE
KEEP OFF

Marjorie felt the thick ridge of bark around the S. “I wonder who Stella was.”

“What do you mean by was?” the starling squawked.

Marjorie looked up at the bird. Maybe it wasn’t the starling’s fault that it was so rude, she thought. Whoever taught it to talk had forgotten to teach it manners.

“This carving looks much older than what was done in 1902,” Marjorie said. “The person who put it here must have died long ago.”

The starling opened its yellow beak, but for a moment it didn’t speak. Then it said, “That’s the silliest thing I ever heard!”

Marjorie reached high over her head. She grabbed hold of the branch and pulled herself up onto it.

The starling flew down to the ground. “Why do you want to climb that tree? Those rotten old branches will break under you. The best tree to climb is an oak. I’ll show you one that’s right on top of Lookout Mountain. You can see all of Brooklyn from there.”

Marjorie hooked her legs around the branch. “Come on up here, Nick.” She reached down to grab her brother’s hand.

Marjorie helped Nick until he reached the branch. After that he could climb on his own. The branches were fairly close together.

A breeze rustled the shiny little leaves of the beech tree. The sunlight was broken into little patches that seemed to dance all around the children.

“It’s lovely up here,” Marjorie said. “Why didn’t the starling want us to climb this tree?”

Nick put his arms around the trunk and swung himself to the other side of it. “I think I’ve found the reason, Marge. Look at this.”

Marjorie worked her way around the tree.

Nick pulled aside a clump of leaves to show her a large hole in the trunk. “My guess is that the starling has a nest in the tree. Maybe there are baby birds in it.”

“Leave it alone, Nick,” Marjorie said.

“I just want to peek at it.” Nick looked into the hole. “It’s pretty deep. I don’t see a nest.”

Nick sat on the edge of the hole and let his legs hang down inside it. “This makes a great seat! You ought to try it, Marge.”

Suddenly the bark crumbled under Nick. Before Marjorie knew what was happening, he slid out of sight into the hole in the tree.