THE PERSONALITY OF TREES 317 



scars on its trunk. That lower wound was a deep 

 gash cut by some Indian, perhaps to direct a war- 

 party making their way through the untrodden 

 wilderness ; this bare, unsightly patch was burnt 

 out by the signal fire of one of our forefather 

 pioneers. And so on and on the story would un- 

 fold, until the topmost, freshly sawed-off limb had 

 for its purpose only the desire of the present 

 owner for a clearer view of the water beyond. 



Finally we come to the tree best beloved of us 

 in the north, the carefully grafted descendant of 

 some sour little wild crab-apple. A faithful 

 servant indeed has the monarch of the old orchard 

 proved. It has fed us and our fathers before us, 

 and its gnarled trunk and low-hanging branches 

 tell the story of the rosy fruit which has weighed 

 down its limbs year after year. Old age has laid 

 a heavy hand upon it, but not until the outermost 

 twig has ceased to blossom, and its death, unlike 

 that of its wild kindred, has come silently and 

 peacefully, do we give the order to have the tree 

 felled. Even in its death it serves us, giving back 

 from the open hearth the light and heat which it 

 has stored up throughout the summers of many 

 years. 



Let us give more thought to the trees about us, 

 and when possible succour them in distress, 

 straighten the bent sapling, remove the parasitic 

 lichen, and give them the best chance for a long, 

 patient, strong life. 



