The little tree was frightened. Well
maybe not exactly frightened — but terribly perturbed.
Of course there had been other times. There
was that time when it had been so
comfortably asleep. Well-l-l, not entirely asleep, but
dozing in the nice, comfortably warm, dark
soil. It had been so grand just to lie there in the
friendly soil, stretching once in a while to take the
kinks out. But, one day a very ambitious stretch had
pushed his head out of the soil, and a
luxuriant yawn was changed into a startled screech. The
situation, had really been very difficult,
Try as he might he could not withdraw his head beneath
the friendly soil.
The soil bad been rather unsympathetic,
too. Always before it had been very friendly,
advising, the little tree to spread its roots outward to
make easier the collection of food. And this
same soil had been so helpful in storing food and
moisture in just the proper place like spreading a
banquet table right before one, though of course the
little tree did not know about tables. But now
the soil only laughed over his awful predicament.
What shall I do?" the little tree whimpered.
"It is so strange having my head uncovered."
"Strange, indeed," had scoffed the
unfeeling soil. "My goodness gracious, must I
support you completely all your life? Just you stop
whimpering and absorb all you can of that
wonderful sunlight."
"What is sunlight?" the little tree had
inquired.
"Silly," the soil had retorted, "just you
look over your head and you will see the Sun. No mistaking it."
Of course the little tree didn't know it,
but as all this happened rather early in the
morning, the Sun was just starting his travel across the
sky. So when the little tree looked up,
there, sure enough, was the Sun. It smiled in the most
friendly fashion, so the little tree smiled
right back, feeling very good indeed. Why, this condition
was excellent when he stopped to think
of it.
"Why did you not tell me before of this
delightful place?" he had reproached the soil,
dropping his gaze to it. "You knew about this all the
time," he accused.
The soil made no response save to chuckle
heartily. The little tree sighed in
contentment. Again he turned his face to the Sun. He
gazed so long at this friendly object that he
was almost blinded. He finally transferred his gaze back
to the soil and blinked and blinked until
his sight became normal again. Then he had started
looking about on all sides. He was closely
surrounded by a veritable forest of little trees just
like himself only the little tree had not called it a
forest or anything, because he did not know what to call
it. And some of his companions were
ever so much larger than he.
"Hi, there," he had presently called,
addressing the salutation to the nearest one, who
was many times taller than he.
"Were you addressing me?" coldly inquired
the tall one with great dignity — only the little
tree did not know about dignity, so he just wondered. But
it did make him feel funny.
"Yes, sir," the little tree had responded,
rapidly recovering himself. "What place is this?"
"This," the taller tree had explained,
"is a nursery."
"What is a nursery?" the little tree had
wondered.
"It is a place," the taller tree had
returned, "where infant trees like you are cared for until
it is time to go."
"Go?" The little tree was becoming more
and more puzzled. "What is go?"
"Why, it is - er-r, go. The taller tree
was evidently in difficulties — maybe he really did
not know the answer.
"Don't you know what go is?" the little
tree had persisted. But before the taller tree
could answer their surrounding fellows had all laughed
right out loud, swaying with their
merriment, just as the taller tree seemed to sway with
chagrin — only of course their swaying might
have been because a little prankish breeze came dancing
through and pushed each of the trees
playfully back and forth.
The other trees had not offered an opinion,
and even the soil was no help, for it had
advised, "Don't ask so many questions. Just wait, and in
time you will find out."
"What is time?" the little tree had wanted
to know. But the soil made no answer. After
that the little tree had contentedly spent the day
alternately looking at the Sun and his fellow trees.
But later he was again perturbed, even more
so than when he had stretched his head
right out of the soil. He had noticed that the Sun was
playing some sort of a game. It seemed to
be racing or chasing something or somebody right across
the sky, but who or what it was the little
tree had been unable to discover. And then, all at once,
the Sun had run right out of sight. It
surprised the little tree so much he screeched again - a
more dignified tree screech this time,
however.
"Whatever has happened?" the little tree
had timidly inquired of no one in particular.
"It's night, silly," the surrounding trees
had chorused.
"What is night?" the little tree had
wondered.
Time for you to go to sleep," said the
taller tree who had answered his questions earlier
in the day.
Then because he had felt a little ashamed
of himself he had added, "The Sun has just
gone to sleep so he will be fresh in the morning — and
you had best do the same."
The little tree had wanted to know what
morning was but concluded he had better not
ask. He was still perturbed, but in no time at all he was
asleep and did not even dream once
through the whole night.
The following morning he bad been much
surprised. Of course the Sun was there, and all
the other trees and the soil. But the surprising thing
was that although he could not remember
stretching — and always before he had known when he
stretched — stretched he must have because
his head was much higher — closer to the Sun, you know — than
when he had gone to sleep. Such
surprising things happened — and all at once, too.
But the little tree was happy — even with
all his scares - and as the days passed he had
noted with satisfaction that even during the day his head
was getting higher and higher, closer and
closer to the Sun. He had taken the soil's advice and
scarcely asked a question now. His
surroundings did not bother him now; he was so accustomed
to them. He knew, without being
told, that his body was called a trunk, and was he proud
the day a little leaf had come out right on
his very own trunk! It stayed there, too, making a very
beautiful decoration, the little tree had
thought. He did not mention it, however, since he had
noticed that some of his companions were
adorned with two and even three leaves. But he did not
envy them. Not at all. There was, it had
seemed to him, a point where too much finery just might
not be in good taste. Anyway he had
decided he would just wait and see how things turned out.
And so time had passed, months of
course, only the little tree did not know this because he
could not read a calendar.
And something that moved had come among his
group and tied something to his trunk.
It had felt uncomfortable at first but soon he got used
to it. As a decoration it might have had
value except that all of his fellows had the same things
attached to their trunks, so it had not given
him any advantage. These somethings that moved among his
group were quite queer. They did
not look like trees, that is, not very much. And they
made queer sounds when they spoke. The
little tree had wondered what it would be like to move as
they did, though perhaps he could never
move exactly as they did because they had two trunks. He
had tried to pull his roots loose so that
he might try the experiment, but he had had to give it up
because the soil clung to them so
stubbornly he could not budge them. And the only answer
he had received when he questioned
the soil was the admonition, "Don't be silly." He had
wondered, rather wistfully, what silly meant,
but decided against asking.
After enjoying an untroubled life for
another period of months, during which his head
kept getting nearer and nearer the Sun, he was again per
..... No, this time he was really
frightened. Some of those things that frequently moved
among his group had come and looked at
the thing tied to his trunk. And one of them had said,
"Here is just what you are looking for, a
sturdy Golden Glow Peach." This had sounded so funny that
the little tree was almost convulsed.
One of these things that moved had called him a Golden
Glow Peach when he, and all his fellows
knew, just as sure as sure, that he was a tree. But his
laughter had been choked off when
something hard had gone down through the soil very
roughly, and had even cut off a portion of
one of his roots. And then suddenly his roots were out of
the soil and he was moving right
through the ranks of his fellows without even touching
the soil. He had tried to scream but it got
clogged in his sap so that he scarcely had been able to
breathe. He had heard faintly the taunting
voice of the taller tree, who had answered so many of his
questions, saying, "Now you will know
what go is."
If this was go the little tree had
decided he did not like it the least little bit. In fact
when he had recovered somewhat from his fright he
resented it greatly. Just because he had asked
about go had not meant that he really wanted to know. He
had not been able to understand why
he had to be shown merely because he had been
inquisitive. Life was certainly becoming complex.
The go was not so bad, as he later
discovered, for his roots had been placed back into
a friendly soil that immediately closed about them in the
most reassuring way. So the little tree
had returned to his normal state of inquisitiveness, and
looked about this new home eagerly. The
Sun was still running races across the sky, which was
comforting; and the soil was just as friendly
as the old soil had been. Then he had taken a closer view
of his surroundings. His companion
trees were much farther away from each other, he had
discovered, than in the nursery, and
apparently he was the only little tree in this strange
new place.
A large, grandfatherly tree was quite near
and the little tree appealed to him for
information.
"Is this a nursery?" he had wanted to know.
The grandfather tree had chuckled in a
friendly fashion and then said, "No, this is an
orchard."
"What is an orchard?" the little tree had
questioned.
"A place where trees live," had been the
reply.
"But I thought that place was a nursery; at
least that is what the other little trees told
me."
"Well," the grandfather tree had explained,
"there are places and places. Trees live in
both the nursery when they are young, and in the orchard
when they are older."
"Oh, "the little tree had excitedly shaken
the six limbs he had grown during his stay at the
nursery, "a nursery is a nursery, but an orchard is a
go."
"A go?" The grandfather tree had been
very much puzzled until the little tree had
explained about how the taller tree at the nursery had
said there would be a time to go.
"I see." The grandfather tree had chuckled.
"No, an orchard is not a go. A nursery is a
nursery, and an orchard is an orchard, but what happened
between the two is go."
This had not really helped the little tree
very much, but he decided not to ask any more
questions about it then.
"You are quite a big tree," the grandfather
tree had approved, which gave the little tree a
feeling of importance which was very nice — something
like the nice feeling he had felt when
stretching. "Next year," the grandfather tree had
continued, "you will have fruit."
"What is fruit?" the little tree had
demanded
"Wait and see," the grandfather tree had
returned, and then, just like the soil had once
said, he added, "just wait and in time you will know."
Such queer answers, the little tree had
fretted to himself. Why were his questions not
answered? It had seemed to him that it would have been
just as easy to answer the questions as to
tell him to wait. But he soon forgot it in his interest
in himself and his surroundings. He had many
leaves now, but instead of being on his trunk they were
on his limbs. They gave him quite an
effect, he had decided.
And so, many more months passed by. More
limbs came out, and his older limbs kept
growing longer and longer, and more leaves appeared. The
little tree really had been thrilled down
to his roots. And then one day something began to happen.
He was not scared, or even perturbed,
but he did wonder when his sap started working down to
his roots instead of upward through his
trunk and limbs.
"Do not think anything about it," the
grandfather tree had counseled. "You are getting
ready for the winter sleep."
"But I sleep each night," the little tree
had protested. "And if I am to sleep during this
winter — what is it? Does winter come between day and
night or between night and day?"
"Neither," the grandfather tree had
replied. "You have been through it before at the
nursery, but you were too young to remember. Just wait,
and in time you will find out."
But the little tree had been experiencing
such a feeling of drowsiness that he had not
resented the answer he had so often heard before. And he
kept getting drowsier and drowsier so
that he was not aware of it when his leaves fell off. And
soon he forgot everything and drifted into
a deep sleep.
Later, he had awakened — the grandfather
tree told him it was springtime. Of course the
little tree — he was bigger now even if he had slept — had
really wanted to know what springtime
meant, but he was too busy to ask. His sap, he had found,
was coursing strongly through his trunk
and limbs; the Sun was shining gaily; and his leaves were
fairly popping out. Life, it had seemed
to him, was very much worth while. This feeling, he had
decided, must have some connection
with the thing called spring, although he guessed there
was no use wondering how this came
about since he and all his tree friends had been asleep,
so there was no one to answer his
questions on such subjects.
And then, one day, he had been terrifically
surprised because little white and pink things
were suddenly all over his branches. Nothing frightening,
of course, and really they were quite
decorative, even more so than the leaves. He had been
rather proud of this addition to his
wardrobe. He noticed that the grandfather tree also had
the same things on his limbs, only a great
many more, of course, so he asked him for an explanation.
"They are blossoms," the grandfather tree
had explained. "First the blossoms, then the
fruit."
The little tree had decided against asking
for information concerning fruit - he had done
so once without result. Anyway he was very much occupied
with events. Birds and bees were
around all the time now. He had secured their names from
the grandfather tree. They were lots of
company and good fun. The birds would sit on his limbs
and make pleasant noises — they were
really quite pleasing. Of course their language was much
harsher than the soft sighing tree
language. And the bees seemed to get a great deal of
pleasure from the blossoms, for they were
around them and inside of them throughout the day.
Then there came a day of consternation — his
blossoms were falling. He had appealed to
the grandfather tree for advice. "My blossoms are falling
off," he had excitedly called. "Am I
going to fall apart?"
"Not at all," the grandfather tree had
reassured.
"You are just getting ready for the fruit.
You are a peach tree so your fruit will be
peaches."
"Oh!" the little tree had acknowledged the
information half-heartedly. It did seem such a
shame to lose one's blossoms when they were so very
attractive. He was sure he would feel naked
or however one felt with less than a full quota of
adornments.
But he survived the tragedy and had become
quite engrossed watching the growth of his
first fruit. At first he had been rather disappointed.
The little green, knotty things were not pretty
like his blossoms, and anyway he had expected something
quite different. He couldn't picture
exactly that which he had expected, the only thing he had
been sure of was that he was not
satisfied. But little by little, day by day, he had
revised his opinions. There was no denying the fact
they were getting better looking every day — all six of
them. He had become quite enthusiastic and
had even bragged just a little bit concerning his prowess
to the grandfather tree. The grandfather
tree had chuckled good naturedly.
But now came the day of real tragedy — the
day we first made the acquaintance of the
little tree. He had noticed those same things that moved
on top of the soil at the at the nursery
also moved in the same way in this orchard. At first he
had been very suspicious of them, for he
feared that he was destined for another go. But when
nothing happened he gradually lost his
suspicions, and he had even welcomed them coming round in
a way — especially when they
admired his dress of leaves and blossoms. But lately they
had been admiring his fruit — had even
touched them. He had not minded — much. Poor things.
They didn't have any such large golden
fruit as he had.
But horrors! These things that moved about
the orchard pulled off his beautiful fruit — all
six of them! Dastardly! How could he survive such a blow?
His beautiful fruit his only fruit!
Mournfully he told the grandfather tree of
the terrible act; told him of all the care he had
taken of his fruit; of the pride he had in them — all
gone for naught.
And the grandfather tree with gentleness
consoled him. "Little tree, you have completed
a cycle of your life. You were placed here to perform a
duty."
"Who did that?" demanded the little tree.
"Nobody ever told me about a duty. There
have been go's and times and winters and
springtimes, but never any duty."
At which the grandfather tree laughed
heartily through all his many branches. "Listen," he
said. "The things that took your fruit are called men.
They think they placed you here. But that is
not so. God, who made you, did that. And God gave you a
duty to perform. He wanted you to
grow leaves, after you had grown sturdy limbs. Then the
birds could find rest and shade with
you."
"Who made the birds?" inquired the little
tree. "Have they a duty? And why don 't they
grow their own shade?"
"Now, now," reproved the grandfather tree,
"not so many questions. I am telling you
about yourself, though I'll tell you this about the
birds: God made them as well as all other
things."
"Is God a tree like us?" the little tree
wanted to know.
"No," replied the grandfather tree. "Now
let me finish with you. After your leaves were
grown then the blossoms came. This you were to do as the
first step to growing fruit. But also
you added beauty to the world — and that is as important
as fruit, really — for you were very pretty
in your green leaves and pink blossoms."
The little tree preened himself. It was
good to be appreciated, he thought.
"Also," continued the grandfather tree,
"the blossoms contained food for the bees you so
greatly admired. Then came the fruit which men will eat
for they cannot eat sunlight as you do."
"I do not like them eating my fruit," said
the little tree. "My peaches were so pretty."
"That," continued the grandfather tree, as
though he had not been interrupted, "is why
you are a tree. Just look what you have accomplished.
You have sheltered birds, fed the bees,
been a thing of great beauty, and now you have fed man.
That is the duty God gave you as your
share of life 's work. Next year you will do it all over
again."
"Well," mused the little tree, "I hope
God is satisfied. As for next year — I'll wait and in
time I'll know — maybe."
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