2i8 ARBOR DAY 



under the edge of the fence among hundreds of 

 leaves, and it fell into a dream and never waked up 

 to tell what it dreamed about. 



One impulse from a vernal wood, 

 May teach you more of man, 



Of moral evil and of good, 

 Than all the sages can. 



WORDSWORTH. 



THE TREE THAT TRIED TO GROW 



BY FRANCIS LEE 



ONE time there was a seed that wished to be a 

 tree. It was fifty years ago, and more than fifty 

 a hundred, perhaps. 



But first there was a great bare granite rock in the 

 midst of the Wendell woods. Little by little, dust 

 from a squirrel's paw, as he sat upon it eating a nut; 

 fallen leaves, crumbling and rotting and per- 

 haps the decayed shell of the nut made earth 

 enough in the hollows of the rock for some 

 mosses to grow; and for the tough little saxifrage 

 flowers, which seem to thrive on the poorest 

 fare, and look all the healthier, like very poor 

 children. 



Then, one by one, the mosses and blossoms 

 withered, and turned to dust; until, after years, 

 and years, and years, there was earth enough to 



