The Wise Old Apple-Tree

M. E.

IN the old New England home where I was born there is an apple orchard which, when I was a boy, was my favorite playing-ground. I used to fancy the trees were my play-fellows, and I would throw myself on the ground and look up at them and make believe they were talking to each other, or that they were snowballing me as the wind tossed the white blossoms about. That was long ago, and I since visited many lands and have met with many strange people, but I have never forgotten the happy days spent in the old apple orchard, and last spring when I went back to the old home, I hurried out to see my childhood's play-fellows. It was very early in the spring, and the buds had not yet poked their little heads out, but I threw myself down and looked up at the trees just as I used to do and waited for them to talk to me. Perhaps I fell to dreaming; at all events, I saw a little bug on the branch just above my head, and as I listened heard the trees talking about it and wondering what they should do to get rid of it, "For," said one, "it will eat the little buds when they come out, and perhaps destroy the tree itself." So they talked and talked, and each tree was quite sure that his plan to drive out the bug was the best one.

After a while, an old apple-tree who had been listening to the others began to wave his branches about to get their attention, and said, "You are going about it in the wrong way; you are paying too much attention to the bug when you should look to yourselves. Water your roots and give them room to spread, and help each tree to know his own life; then the trees will grow so strong and sturdy that the little bug will be powerless harm them."

Then they all knew that the wise old apple-tree was right, and the roots were watered and they spread and spread and the tree grew so conscious of its strength that when the little buds and blossoms appeared later on, the bug could not be found, for it had been driven away by the life of the tree itself.

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