TREE EEEEINGS 
5 
One summer when the fig tree withered and died the 
whole population was thrown into the greatest excite¬ 
ment. 
There is a story three thousand years old; it comes 
from Egypt, and it is called the Tale of the Two Brothers. 
One of the brothers left his heart on the top of a tree. 
As long as the tree stood that brother lived happily, but 
when his enemy felled the tree that brother died. 
Right here in your own land, in Hartford, Connecticut, 
there stood an oak tree—my great-uncle, by the way— 
called the Charter Oak of Hartford. It was believed to 
be several hundred years old. When the pioneer settlers 
were felling trees to clear the land, the Indians begged 
them to spare the oak. “It has been the guide of our 
ancestors for centuries,” they said, “as to the time of 
planting our corn. When the leaves are the size of a 
mouse’s ears, then is the time to put the seed into the 
ground.” The white men respected the Indians’ wish, 
and the oak outlived many generations of settlers. In the 
summer of 1856 it fell in a fierce wind storm, and the 
sorrowful people tolled the sunset bells that evening and 
brought their musicians to play a funeral dirge over the 
mighty fallen trunk. 
Well, my grandfather never had much fun out of being 
worshiped, and I don’t think I’d like it much myself. 
