102 
WISCONSIN HORTICULTURE 
March, 1918 
THE 
FOR 
One hot September 
day in the fall of 1915 
a little boy lay quietly 
on his back, looking up 
through the branches 
of a great big tree that 
lavished its protecting shade above 
him. He was thinking of the tree, 
and of all that it had seen, and of 
what it could tell if only its whis- 
pering leaves could talk; for he 
had heard a part of the story many 
times, and he wished that he could 
hear the tree tell the whole of it. 
It was his great-grandfather, 
Philip Le Blanc, and his great- 
grandmother who had come there 
first, so long ago that there were 
no houses and no other people any- 
where near. When they saw tlie 
tree, which even then was greater 
than any round it, and when they 
had drunk of the spring that wat- 
ered its roots, his great-grand- 
mother had said, “Here let us 
stay;” and so they unyoked the 
oxen from the great wagon and be- 
gan to make a home in the Ohio 
wilderness. But all that first sum- 
mer the tree was their real home, 
for under it they cooked and ate 
their meals, and under it they slept 
when the nights were hot. 
And by and by, even before they 
had finished the log cabin on the 
little knoll to the east, a son was 
born to them ; and him, too, they 
called Philip ; and his father said 
when he named him, “I have little 
to give thee, my son ; but what God 
gave to me, that give I also to 
thee. Thou shalt have the great 
tree that has sheltered us in the 
wilderness, and that was thy first 
home. It shall be thine forever.” 
FOUGHT 
By EDWARD W FRENTZ 
And so the tree came 
very early to be known 
Philip’s tree.” 
second Philip, 
who was the little boy’s 
grandfather, had spent 
his life in making the forests into 
fields and in planting corn and 
wheat, and he, too, had a son whom 
he named Philip ; and when he 
christened him he said, “My son, I 
have much to give thee, but noth- 
ing else so beautiful as the great 
tree that I had of my father. That, 
then, shall be your christening 
gift.” And so the tree was still 
called “Philip’s tree”; but this 
time the Philip that was meant 
was the little boy’s father. 
Those things, of course, the little 
boy could not remember, for they 
happened long before he was born ; 
but what he did remember was the 
day when his father had first told 
him the story of the tree and at 
the end had said, “And now, my 
son, as my grandfather, the first 
Philip Le Blanc, gave the tree to 
my father, so I, the third in line, 
and the third to bear the name, 
now give it to you, for your very 
own, to love and cherish as we 
have loved and cherished it.” 
All those things the little boy 
thought of as he lay there and 
watched the sunlight dotting the 
leaves with gold. “And it is now 
my tree,” he said happily to him- 
self ; ‘ ‘ my very own ! ’ ’ 
He thought that he had spoken 
only to himself, and so he was 
startled to hear a little rustle in 
the grass and a man’s voice saying, 
“Yours, is it, my son? Then 
you are a lucky boy, for there are 
few like it now.” Then the stran- 
ger asked where the little boy’s 
father was, and went over to the 
house to see him. 
Philip saw him go in at the front 
door, and after a little while come 
out again, but this time Philip’s 
father was with him. The two of 
them crossed the dooryard and the 
road, and came over to where 
Philip was sitting. “There!” 
said Philip’s father. “Ask him 
yourself.” And he smiled. 
Then the stranger said, “My 
boy, who owns this tree?” 
Philip rose to his feet, for, al- 
though he could not tell why, it 
seemed as if something great were 
at hand — something in the pres- 
ence of which it was not fitting to 
remain seated. So he stood up 
straight before the man and said, 
“I own it, sir.” 
“And will you sell it — to me — 
for a great deal of money — for a 
hundred dollars?” 
For a moment Philip looked at 
the man in wonder. ‘ ‘ Sell it ? ” 
he said. “Sell my tree? No, sir.” 
Then the stranger turned to 
Philip’s father. “May I tell him 
the story?” he asked. 
“Yes, tell him. Tell him as you 
told me ; for the tree is his. and he 
shall decide for himself.” 
And so, as they sat there under 
the tree, the stranger toict the lit- 
tle boy of the great war ; of how 
French men had been killed and 
French women had been driven 
from their homes and little French 
children were starving. He spoke 
of the many things that France 
needed and could get only in this 
country ; and then he rose and, 
laying his hand on the trunk of 
the tree, he said, “She needs your 
tree. She needs it for gunstocks, 
for it is a black walnut, and so 
large that it will make hundreds of 
stocks, and of no other wood can 
TREE * THAT 
FRANCE 11^1?' 
as 
The 
