314 THE LOG OF THE SUN 



ters by the side of the young sapling, the con- 

 quered tree will bow its head for the last time to 

 the storm. 



Farther inland, sheltered in a narrow valley, 

 stands a sister tree, seeded from the same cone as 

 the storm-distorted spruce. The wind shrieks and 

 howls above the little valley and cannot enter ; but 

 the law of compensation brings to bear another 

 element, silent, gentle, but as deadly as the howl- 

 ing blast of the gale. All through the long winter 

 the snow sifts softly down, finding easy lodgment 

 on the dense-foliaged branches. From the sur- 

 rounding heights the white crystals pour down 

 imtil the tree groans with the massive weight. 

 Her sister above is battling with the storm, but 

 hardly a feather's weight of snow clings to her 

 waving limbs. 



The compressed, down-bent branches of the val- 

 ley spruce soon become permanently bent and the 

 strain on the trunk fibres is great. At last, with a 

 despairing crash, one great limb gives way and is 

 torn bodUy from its place of growth. The very 

 vitals of the tree are exposed and instantly every 

 splintered cell is fiUed with the sifting snow. 

 Helpless the tree stands, and early in the spring, 

 at the first quickening of summer's growth, a salve 

 of curative resin is poured upon the wound. Buli 

 it is too late. The invading water has done its 

 work and the elements have begun to rot the very 

 heart of the tree. How much more to be desired is 



