"Rubbish," cried Mrs. Pepper, "rnl> 

 bish ! I don't believe that they ever made 

 any clothes of her old leaves at all, so 

 there !" 



And now Mrs. Fig's voice was so po- 

 lite it made me quite nervous, and she 

 spoke very slowly. 'The first man and 

 woman went to all of the other trees 

 and looked their leaves over very care- 

 fully, but none of them were good or 

 pretty enough, and finally they came to 

 the Fig tree." Here Mrs. Fig made a 

 long pause, repeating, ''Finally \hey came 

 to the Fig tree. And the first woman 

 said: 'Oh, aren't these leaves just too 

 lovely for anything ! The Fig tree is the 

 best and prettiest of all. We will make 

 our clothes out of her leaves. And so they 

 did, and what's more, they got into a 

 whole lot of trouble just because thev 

 had something to do with another tree be- 

 sides the Fig." 



Mrs. Pepper rubbed two branches to- 

 gether, and it made the most sneery sound 

 you ever heard, as she asked : "I suppose 

 you want me to believe that 'other tree' 

 was the pepper?" 



"No," replied Mrs. Fig, "I don't think 

 there were anv pepper trees in the gfarden 

 at all." 



Then you should have seen how 

 angry Mrs. Pepper grew and I did wish 

 that Grandma Liveoak would hurry and 

 say something so there would be peace ; 

 but sure as you live, when she spoke her 

 voice sounded strange and very dignified, 

 and she only said : 



"The other trees may have family his- 

 tories too, Mrs. Fig, if they chose to 

 boast of them !" 



"A poet once said," began Mr. Pine. 

 But Mrs. Orange Tree interrupted him 

 to ask what they were saying about her ; 

 that she heard "best and prettiest 

 leaves" mentioned. 



Mrs. Fig told the story all over again, 

 and I wanted to explain to her that 1 

 had never heard it just that way ; but her 

 stubby branches were standing very firm 

 and determined, and I knew it wouldn't 

 do a bit of good. 



"Poets," said Mr. Pine, "are the wisest 

 people in the world, and one of them" — 



"I don't care a twig for the first man 

 or the first woman," said Mrs. Pepper 

 crossly. "I know all the painters choose 



nic, and they put my leaves and my clus- 

 ters of white blossoms and red berries 

 on paper and boards, and painters are the 

 people of all the earth who know what is 

 beautiful, so that proves the first place 

 mine." 



"This poet once said of our family," 

 ^Ir. Pine began again. 



"The brides all choose me," cried Mrs. 

 Orange, "and who in the world is so im- 

 portant as a bride? And if they choose 

 me, I must be first and prettiest." 



"As I remarked," said Mr. Pine, "this 

 poet" — 



But such a noise you never heard, and 

 even Grandma Liveoak as bad as the 

 rest, and Mrs. Pepper and Mrs. Fig and 

 Mrs. Orange, all claiming so many things 

 for their family. And they got to saying 

 unkind things to each other — they really 

 did — and you have no idea how dread- 

 fully sarcastic trees can be. But just as 

 I was wondering however it would all 

 come out Mrs. Pepper stopped still for a 

 minute, then leaned her graceful boughs 

 fringed with fine narrow leaves way over 

 until they kissed Mrs. Fig's bare 

 branches, and said gently : "I am sure it 

 was a great honor to have your pretty 

 leaves chosen by the first man and wom- 

 an, and I am very sorry I was cross." 



Grandma Liveoak gave a little laugh, 

 exclaiming, "Well, what a silly old tree I 

 am ! Do you know, I came very near be- 

 ing a little put out there, just for a sec- 

 ond, simply because another tree men- 

 tioned her family." Then she praised 

 Mrs. Fig and told her it was a good 

 thing to think well of one's own sap and 

 wood. And Mrs. Fig said she might 

 have been mistaken about what the first 

 woman said, and that probably she took 

 the fig leaves because they were the han- 

 diest or something. And Mrs. Orange 

 got the wind to blow over some of her 

 prettiest blossoms to the other trees, 

 Avhile high above Mockingbird was sing- 

 ing and over on the hedge a meadow lark 

 gave its call, and it was all very sweet 

 and pretty. 



"As I was saying," calmly remarked 

 Mr. Pine, "a poet once said of our family : 



Who is the king of all the wood? 

 Be it distinctly understood 

 It is the Pine!" 



Karrie King. 



151 



