"O yes; the Greeks believed the Oak 

 to be the first tree that grew on the 

 earth, and when Zeus was born on 

 Mount Lycaeus, his cradle lay under 

 the shadow of an Oak. Then, too, 

 there was a famous grove of sacred 

 oaks which they used to visit when 

 they wanted to learn his will. They 

 read his answer in the whispers of the 

 wind. They attributed to us the mys- 

 tic power to foretell or advise about 

 coming events. Their oldest oracle 

 was that of Jupiter at Dodona. It was 

 beHeved that two black doves, simulta- 

 neously, flew from Thebes in Egypt; 

 one alighted in an oak grove at Dodona, 

 and in a human voice proclaimed that 

 an oraclle of Jupiter should be estab- 

 lished by the people. The other dove 

 carried a similar message to the tem- 

 ple of Jupiter Ammon in the Lybian 

 oasis. Accordingly the oracles were 

 set up, and the priests in the temples 

 interpreted the responses that were con- 

 veyed to them, by the motion of the 

 trees in the wind." 



"What beautiful myths those ancients 

 had," said Mabel as she cracked and 

 ate an acorn. ''How sweet and white 

 your acorns are! They are not like 

 those on that tree yonder. How strange 

 that I never saw acorns on you before! 

 Yet you must be old, for I can remem- 

 ber you when I was a child." 



''The kernels of my acorns are white 

 and sweet because I am a White Oak. 

 That tree is a Black Oak, and its ker- 

 nels are yellow and bitter; then, too, it 

 is an older tree. I am but twenty years 

 Olid, and this is my first crop of acorns," 

 said the Oak Tree proudly, and he 

 shook his great branches until a per- 

 fect shower of acorns fell about the 

 maiden, who laughed merrily as they 

 hit her. 



"The Black Oak retains his leaves all 

 winter; and, withered and brown as they 

 are, they speak of a time when wc were 

 evergreen. Down in New Zealand and 

 Tcrra-del-Fuego, the forests are ^reen 

 all the year, and some of our species 

 help to make them so. 



"There is an oak tree in the forest 

 of Windsor Castle called the Kmg's 

 Oak. William the Conqueror, that bold 

 Norman, loved to sit in the shade of 

 this lofty spreading trc(^ and muse. We 



little know what memories, what re- 

 grets, stirred his heart as he sat there 

 in solitude. He loved that tree and 

 even in his day, over eight centuries 

 ago, it was pronounced a "goodly tree." 

 Centuries have come and gone. The 

 Norman Usurper, and all those who, 

 with him, fought the sturdy Saxon and 

 triumphed over him, have now passed 

 into dust. Their lives, their ambitions, 

 their joys and sorrows are ended long 

 ago, and still my mighty relative lives; 

 swept by storms in winter, rocked by 

 mighty tempests in summer and lulled 

 by gentle breezes often; its widespread- 

 ing branches, the home of many birds, 

 its acorns harvested by squirrels; and 

 in springtime, the greensward at its 

 feet carpeted by flowers, deHcate and 

 sweet, whose fragrance floats up to him 

 like incense. 



"Older even than this are the oaks 

 near Croydon, which must have seen 

 the glitter of Roman spears as the 

 legions of the Empire passed beneath 

 them." 



The Oak paused as though he felt 

 the burden of their centuries upon his 

 own broad branches. The wind was 

 whispering among his leaves; the nim- 

 ble squirrels were darting hither and 

 thither, busily gathering their store of 

 nuts, so that when the wind roared and 

 whistled and the ground was covered 

 with snow and they were warm and 

 snug in their cozy nests, their gran- 

 aries would not be empty. The tree 

 remained silent for some time, while 

 Mabel waited, listening intently for his 

 voice. Then the wind stirred his 

 branches and he roused from his rev- 

 erie. 



'Tn the grounds of Hatfield there 

 stands a decapitated oak, which has a 

 singular history. One morning in Feb- 

 ruary, 1587, Elizabeth, Queen of Eng- 

 land, sat on a bench waiting for news 

 from London. Presently a messenger 

 arrived who dropped before her on one 

 knee, and said: "Madam, the thing is 

 done. The head of Mary Stuart has 

 fallen." Suddenly a forked tongue of 

 lightning flashed through the air, and 

 with a deafening roar and mighty crash 

 the head of my relative fell, like that 

 of the beautiful but unfortunate daugh- 

 ter of Tames V of Scotland. 



78 



