And he moved off to the other end of the valley and disappeared among the rocks.
"Well!" exclaimed the Pine Tree. "That"s something, at all events."
And he shook down a number of cones on the snow. He was really happier than he had ever been before,--and with good reason, too.
After a while there appeared three people. They were a family of Indians,--a father, a mother, and a little child. They, too, went straight to the tree.
"We"ll stay here," said the father, looking across at the snow-covered bed of the stream and up at the Pine Tree. He was very poorly clothed, this Indian. He and his wife and the child had on dresses of hare-skins, and they possessed nothing more of any account, except bow and arrows, and a stick with a net on the end. They had no lodge poles, and not even a dog. They were very miserable and hungry. The man threw down his bow and arrows not far from the tree. Then he began to clear away the snow in a circle and to pull up the sagebushes.
These he and the woman built into a round, low hut, and then they lighted a fire within it. While it was beginning to burn the man went to the stream and broke a hole in the ice. Tying a string to his arrow, he shot a fish which came up to breathe, and, after putting it on the coals, they all ate it half-raw. They never noticed the Pine Tree, though he scattered down at least a dozen more cones.
At last night came on, cold and cheerless. The wind blew savagely through the valleys, and howled at the Pine Tree, for they were old enemies. Oh, it was a bitter night, but finally the morning broke!
More snow had fallen and heaped up against the hut so that you could hardly tell that it was there. The stream had frozen tighter than before and the man could not break a hole in the ice again. The sagebushes were all hid by the drifts, and the Indians could find none to burn.
Then they turned to the Pine Tree. How glad he was to help them! They gathered up the cones and roasted the seeds on the fire. They cut branches from the tree and burned them, and so kept up the warmth in their hut.
The Pine Tree began to find himself useful, and he told the hare so one morning when she came along. But she saw the Indian"s hut, and did not stop to reply. She had put on her winter coat of white, yet the Indian had seen her in spite of all her care. He followed her over the snow with his net, and caught her among the drifts. Poor Pine Tree!
She was almost his only friend, and when he saw her eaten and her skin taken for the child"s mantle, he was very sorrowful, you may be sure.
He saw that if the Indians stayed there, he, too, would have to die, for they would in time burn off all his branches, and use all his cones; but he was doing good at last, and he was content.
Day after day pa.s.sed by,--some bleak, some warm,--and the winter moved slowly along. The Indians only went from their hut to the Pine Tree now. He gave them fire and food, and the snow was their drink. He was smaller than before, for many branches were gone, but he was happier than ever.
One day the sun came out more warmly, and it seemed as if spring was near. The Indian man broke a hole in the ice, and got more fish. The Indian woman caught a rabbit. The Indian child gathered sagebushes from under the fast-melting snow and made a hotter fire to cook the feast. And they did feast, and then they went away.
The Pine Tree had found out his mission. He had helped to save three lives.
In the summer there came along a band of explorers, and one, the botanist of the party, stopped beside our Pine Tree:
"This," said he in his big words, "is the Pinus Monophyllus, otherwise known as the Bread Pine." He looked at the deserted hut and pa.s.sed his hand over his forehead.
"How strange it is," said he. "This Pine Tree must have kept a whole family from cold and starvation last winter. There are very few of us who have done as much good as that." And when he went away, he waved his hand to the tree and thanked G.o.d in his heart that it grew there.
And the Bread Pine waved his branches in return, and said to himself as he gazed after the departing band: "I will never complain again, for I have found out what a pleasant thing it is to do good, and I know now that every one in his lifetime can do a little of it."
A WONDERFUL WEAVER
There"s a wonderful weaver High up in the air, And he weaves a white mantle For cold earth to wear.
With the wind for his shuttle, The cloud for his loom, How he weaves, how he weaves, In the light, in the gloom.
Oh, with finest of laces, He decks bush and tree; On the bare, flinty meadows A cover lays he.
Then a quaint cap he places On pillar and post, And he changes the pump To a grim, silent ghost.
But this wonderful weaver Grows weary at last; And the shuttle lies idle That once flew so fast.
Then the sun peeps abroad On the work that is done; And he smiles: "I"ll unravel It all, just for fun."
George Cooper.
THE PINE AND THE FLAX
Albrekt Segerstedt
Just where a forest ended grew a pine tree taller and more beautiful than all the others in the forest. Far away could be seen its feathery round crown, whose soft branches waved so gracefully when the wind blew across the plain.
At the foot of the pine tree the fields of grain began.
Here the farmer sowed seeds of many kinds, but the flax was sowed nearest the pine. It came up beautiful and even, and the pine thought a great deal of the slender green thing.
The flax stalk raised itself higher and higher, and near the close of summer it bore a little blue helmet on his head.
"Thou art so beautiful!" said the tall pine.
The flax bowed itself low, but raised again so gracefully that it looked like a billowy sea.
The pine and the flax often talked to each other and became great friends.
"What folly!" said the other forest trees to the pine. "Do not have anything to do with the flax; it is so weak. Choose the tall spruce or the birch tree. They are strong."
But the pine would not desert the flax.
The thistle and other small plants talked to the flax.
"You are crazy to think of the lofty pine. It does not trouble itself about you. It is tall and proud. Children of a size play best together. Think of the bush and vine and content yourself."
"I shall trust the pine," replied the flax. "It is honourable and faithful and I am fond of it."
So the pine and the flax remained friends.
Time pa.s.sed and the flax was pulled up and made into ropes and cloth.
The pine was felled and its trunk carried to the city. But the pine and flax did not forget each other, though neither knew where the other was.
A large, beautiful ship was launched upon the water. On this the pine tree was erected as a mast, and on the highest part waved a flag.
Then came a great white sail to help the mast carry the proud ship forward. It wrapped itself around the mast, spread itself out like a great wing, and caught the wind on its wide curve.
The sail had been woven of linen that grew as flax out in the field on the edge of the wood. And the two friends had met again.
Clasping each other faithfully, out over the foaming billows they went to new lands. It was life, it was pleasure to go on united as friends.
The winds took a message back to the forest.
"Who would have believed it?" said the spruce and the birch.