Part 4

The prickly leaves which grow low down on the tree have sharp spines along the waved edges, and a very sharp spine always grows at the point of the leaf. But the upper branches are clothed with blunt leaves which have no spines along the edges; instead there is a pale yellow line round each leaf, and there is a single blunt spine at the point.

Sheep and deer are very fond of eating the tough, leathery leaves of the Holly, and it is believed that the tree clothes its lower branches in prickly leaves to protect itself from these greedy enemies.

Country people tell you that if branches of smooth Holly are the first to be brought into the house at Christmas-time, then the wife will be head of the house all the next year, but if the prickly boughs enter first, then the husband will be ruler.

The Holly leaves hang on the tree several years, and after they fall they lie a long time on the ground before the damp soaks through their leathery skin and makes them decay. You will find Holly leaves from which all the green part of the leaf has disappeared, leaving a beautiful skeleton leaf of grey fibre, which is still perfect in every vein and rib.

The flowers of the Holly bloom in May. They appear in small crowded clusters between the leaf stalk and the twig, and each flower is a delicate pale pink on the outside, but is pure white within. There is a calyx cup edged with four green points, and inside this cup stands a long white tube, with four white petals at the top. There are four yellow-headed stamens, and a tiny seed-vessel is hidden inside the flower tube. Sometimes all these parts will be found complete in a single flower; sometimes there will be flowers on the same branch which have stamens and no seed-vessel, and others which have seed-vessels and no stamens. Perhaps you will find a whole tree on which not a single seed flower grows. This tree may be laden with lovely white flowers in spring, but it will bear no berries in winter. You must have both stamen flowers and seed flowers if the tree is to produce any fruit.

As summer passes, the seed-vessels, which have had stamen dust scattered over them, become small green berries and these berries turn yellow and then change into a deep red, the colour of coral or sealing wax. The berries cluster round the green stalk, and most beautiful they are among the glossy dark leaves. Inside each berry there are four little fruit stones containing seeds, and the birds love to eat these red berries, which are full of mealy pulp; but remember that children must never eat the Holly berries, as they are poisonous except for the birds.

You will find that if the Holly tree has a good crop of berries this winter there will not be many the following year; the tree seems to require a year's rest before it can produce a second large crop.

There are some Holly trees with leaves which are shaded with pale yellow or white-variegated Hollies, we call them. These are greatly prized for planting in gardens, where the bushes with different-coloured leaves lend much beauty when all the trees are bare in winter.

The wood of the Holly is too small to be of much use. It is white and very hard, and when stained black it is largely used instead of ebony, which is scarce and expensive. The black handles of many of our silver teapots are made of stained Holly wood, and the slender branches are good for making walking-sticks and coachmen's whips.

THE FABLE OF THE THREE ELMS

The North Wind spoke to three sturdy elms, And, "Now you are dead!" said he; "I have blown a blast till the snow whirled past, And withered your leaves, and see: You are brown and old and your boughs are cold!" And he sneered at the elm trees three.

The first elm spoke in a hollow tone (For the snow lay deep and white,) "You think we are dead, North Wind?" he said, "Why we sleep--as you sleep at night. Beneath the snow lie my sturdy roots, They grip on the friendly earth, And I rest--till another year!" said he, And he shook with a noisy mirth.

The second elm laughed a hearty laugh, And, "North Wind," he cried in glee, "Beneath my bark glows a living spark, The sap of a healthy tree; My boughs are bare and my leaves are gone, But--what have I to fear? For the winter time is my time of rest And I sleep till another year!"

The third elm spoke and his voice was sweet, And kind as the summery sea; "Oh, Wind!" he said, "we are far from spring-- The God in whose hand we be Looks down, with love, from the winter sky, And sends us His sun to cheer; If we had no snow there would be no spring-- We rest till another year!"

The three elms rocked in the stinging blast, And under the heavy snow Their roots were warm from the raging storm, And safe from the winds that blow. They smiled in their hearts and their leafless boughs Spread over the frosty way; For they knew that the God of forest trees Would watch through each winter day.

The North Wind uttered a frosty sigh, As the snow blew far and free; And his weary eyes sought the winter skies, And, "Mighty is God!" said he. "To die or live are His gifts to give!" And he smiled at the elm trees three.

Margaret E. Sangster, Jr.

THE PINE AND THE WILLOW

(Japanese Tale)

Mine Morishima

In a beautiful large garden, among many kinds of trees and shrubs, there stood a tall fine Pine tree, and near to him, and almost as tall, a graceful Willow.

One dark winter morning the wind blew hard and the clouds showed that a storm was coming soon.

The Pine felt lonesome, as little children often do and thought he would talk to the Willow. So he said, "Friend Willow, your branches are trembling. I am sorry for you, for I know you are afraid of the storm that is coming. I wish you were like me. I am so strong nothing can hurt me. The frost cannot change the colour of my leaves nor the wind blow them off; occasionally, some old ones may fall on the ground, but there are always new ones to take their places--and I am the only tree in this large garden that is always fresh and bright. As for you, dear Willow, your branches all hang down, you have no leaves now and, as you are neither strong nor pretty and shake in such a little wind, of what good are you to yourself, or to any one else?"

"Dear Pine," the Willow answered, "I do not tremble with fear, for I am not afraid, but God made me so that the wind would move my branches very easily, and that I should not have leaves in the winter time. By and by I shall have delicate green leaves and blossoms, and I thank Him for giving me a beautiful summer dress, even though I go bare in cold weather. It must be very beautiful to be strong and handsome, as you are, and I am happy in having so good a friend."

While they were talking the wind had grown much stronger, and now the rain came pouring down. The Pine stood up angrily against the wind, scolding with a hin, hin, hin, while the Willow bent and swayed to and fro and all the other trees bowed their heads.

Then the Pine said, "Willow, why do you not push this rude wind away instead of yielding to him; you are cowardly to let him abuse you so, when you might resist him, as I do."

Then the Willow answered, "There are many ways to keep oneself from harm, and I do not like to resist any one with force."

The Pine was vexed at the Willow and would say no more, but battled with the wind he could no longer hold back. Then his branches were torn and his top broken off; they fell to the ground and the proud tree was a sad sight.

But the Willow bent her branches and yielded to the wind, and so was unhurt.

The next morning, when the rain had ceased and the sun shone brightly, the owner of the garden came out to see how his trees had stood the storm. When he saw the broken Pine he thought it was too bad to have a broken tree in his fine garden, so he ordered the gardener to move the Pine into the back yard.

After a time, spring came, and the Willow put forth her lovely green leaves and every one who passed looked at the graceful tree and said, "How beautiful she is, how gentle she seems!"

The little birds built their nests in her branches, and soon baby birds came, which made the tree very happy. The butterflies danced around in the sunshine and all summer little children loved to play in the shade of the drooping Willow.

And when the Pine peeped in from the back yard, and saw how happy and beautiful the Willow was, and how the children, the birds, and the butterflies loved to play about her, he thought, "If only I had been less proud of my own strength, then might I, too, be standing in that beautiful garden with my crown of leaves, and with young life all about me."

WHY THE WILD RABBITS ARE WHITE IN WINTER

(Algonquin Legend)

Adapted from "Algonquin Indian Tales," by Egerton R. Young. Copyright, 1903, by Egerton R. Young. Reprinted by permission of the Abington Press, Publishers.

Long ago Wild Rabbit of the Northland wore a brown fur coat, throughout the year. Today, when the long winter months come, Wild Rabbit changes his coat of brown to one that is the colour of the snow. And this is how the change happened.

Wild Rabbit could not defend himself from his many foes. Almost all the animals,--foxes of all kinds, wildcats, wolves, wolverines, weasels, and ermine hunted Wild Rabbit for food. Then there were the fierce birds,--the eagles, hawks, and owls--that were always on the lookout for rabbits, young or old. The result was that with this war continually waged against them, the poor rabbits had a hard time of it, especially in winter. They found it very difficult to hide themselves when the leaves were off the trees and the ground was covered with snow.

In those days of long ago the animals used to have a large council. There was a great father at the head of each kind of animal and bird, and these leaders used to meet and talk about the welfare of their kind. There was always peace and friendship among them while at the council. They appointed a king and he presided as chief. All the animals that had troubles or grievances had a right to come and speak about them at the council, and if it were possible, all wrongs were remedied.

Sometimes queer things were said. At one council the bear found great fault with the fox who had deceived him and had caused him to lose his beautiful tail by telling him to go and catch fish with it in a big crack in the ice. The bear sat fishing so long that the crack froze up solidly and, to save his life, the bear had to break off his tail.

But all the things they talked about were not so funny as the bear's complaint. They had their troubles and dangers and they discussed various plans for improving their condition; also, they considered how they could best defeat the skill and cleverness of the human hunters.

At one of the council meetings, when the rabbit's turn to be heard came, he said that his people were nearly all destroyed, that the rest of the world seemed to be combined against his race and they were killing them by day and night, in summer and winter. Also, he declared that the rabbits had little power to fight against enemies, and, therefore, his people were almost discouraged, but they had sent him to the council to see if the members could suggest any remedy or plan to save the rabbit race from complete destruction.

While the rabbit was speaking the wolverine winked at the wildcat, while the fox, although he tried to look solemn, could not keep his mouth from watering as he thought of the many rabbits he intended to eat.

Thus it can be seen that the rabbit did not get much sympathy from his enemies in the council. But his friends,--the moose, the reindeer, and the mountain goat--stood up in the meeting and spoke out bravely for their little friend. Indeed, they told the animals that had laughed at the little rabbit's sad story that if they continued to kill all the rabbits they could find there would soon be none left. Then these cruel animals would be the greatest sufferers, for what else could they find to eat in sufficient numbers to keep them alive, if the rabbits were all gone?

This thought sobered the thoughtless animals at first but they soon resumed their mocking at the poor little rabbit and his story. As they happened to be in the majority, the council refused to do anything in the matter.

When the moose heard the decision of the council he was very sorry for his poor little brother rabbit. He lowered his head and told the rabbit to jump on one of his flat horns. The moose then carried him some distance away from the council and said, "There is no hope for you here. Most of the animals live on you and so they will not do anything that will make it more difficult for you to be caught than it now is. Your only hope is to go to Manabozho, and see what he can do for you. His name was once Manabush, which means Great Rabbit, so I am sure he will be your friend because I think he is a distant relative of yours."

Away sped the rabbit along the route described by the moose, who had lately found out where Manabozho was stopping.

The rabbit was such a timid creature that, when he came near to Manabozho, he was much afraid that he would not be welcomed. However, his case was desperate, and although his heart was thumping with fear he hurried along to have the matter decided as soon as possible.

To his great joy he found Manabozho in the best humour and the little creature was received most kindly. The great Master saw how weary the little rabbit was after the long journey so he made the little fellow rest on some fragrant grass in the sunshine. Then Manabozho went out and brought in some of the choicest things in his garden for the rabbit.

"Tell me all your troubles, little brother," said Manabozho. "Also, tell me about the council meeting."

The rabbit repeated his story and told all about the treatment he had received at the council.

When the Great Master heard how unjustly the little rabbit had been treated he grew very angry and said, "And that is the way they treated little brother rabbit at the council we have given them, is it? And they know we expect them to give the smallest and weakest the same kind of justice as they offer the biggest and strongest! It is high time for some one to report the council news to me if such unfair meetings take place. Look out, Mr. Fox, Mr. Wolverine, and Mr. Wildcat, for if I take you in hand you'll be sorry little brother rabbit was obliged to come to Manabozho for help."

The Great Master had worked himself up into such a furious temper that the rabbit was frightened almost to death. But when Manabozho saw this he laughed and said, "I'm sorry to have frightened you, little brother. But I was so very angry with those animals for ill-treating you that I forgot myself. And now tell me what you wish me to do for you?"

After a long talk about the matter it was decided that there should be two great changes made. First, the eyes of the rabbit should be so increased in power that in the future they would be able to see by night as well as by day. Second, in all the Northland where much snow falls during many months of the year the rabbits of that region should change their coats for the winter season into a beautiful white colour like the snow.

And the rabbits of the Northland now have a much better time than they had formerly. In their soft white coats they can glide away from their enemies, or they can sometimes escape notice by remaining perfectly still on the white earth. (_Adapted._)

THE YEW

Janet Harvey Kelman

Once upon a time a discontented Yew tree grew in a wood. Other trees, it thought, had larger and more beautiful leaves which fluttered in the breeze and became red and brown and yellow in the sunshine, and the Yew tree pined because the fairies had given it such an unattractive dress. One morning the sunshine disclosed that all its green leaves had changed into leaves made of gold, and the heart of the Yew tree danced with happiness. But some robbers, as they stole through the forest, were attracted by the glitter, and stripped off every golden leaf. Again the tree bemoaned its fate, and next day the sun shone on leaves of purest crystal. "How beautiful!" thought the tree; "see how I sparkle!" But a hailstorm burst from the clouds, and the sparkling leaves lay shivered on the grass. Once more the good fairies tried to comfort the unhappy tree. Smooth broad leaves covered its branches, and the Yew tree flaunted these gay banners in the wind. But, alas, a flock of goats came by and ate of the fresh young leaves "a million and ten." "Give me back again my old dress," sobbed the Yew, "for I see that it was best." And ever since its leaves remain unchanging, and it wears the sombre dress which covered its boughs in the days when King William landed from Normandy on our shores, and the swineherd tended his pigs in the great forests which covered so much of Merry England.

HOW THE PINE TREE DID SOME GOOD

Samuel W. Duffield

It was a long narrow valley where the Pine Tree stood, and perhaps if you want to look for it you might find it there today. For pine trees live a long time, and this one was not very old.

The valley was quite barren. Nothing grew there but a few scrubby bushes; and, to tell the truth, it was about as desolate a place as you can well imagine. Far up over it hung the great, snowy caps of the Rocky Mountains, where the clouds played hide and seek all day, and chased each other merrily across the snow. There was a little stream, too, that gathered itself up among the snows and came running down the side of the mountain; but for all that the valley was very dreary.

Once in a while there went a large grey rabbit, hopping among the sagebushes; but look as far as you could you would find no more inhabitants. Poor, solitary little valley, with not even a cottonwood down by the stream, and hardly enough grass to furnish three oxen with a meal! Poor, barren little valley lying always for half the day in the shadow of those tall cliffs--burning under the summer sun, heaped high with the winter snows--lying there year after year without a friend! Yes, it had two friends, though they could do it but little good, for they were two pine trees. The one nearest the mountain, hanging quite out of reach in a cleft of the rock, was an old, gnarled tree, which had stood there for a hundred years. The other was younger, with bright green foliage, summer and winter. It curled up the ends of its branches, as if it would like to have you understand that it was a very fine, hardy fellow, even if it wasn't as old as its father up there in the cleft of the rock.

Now the young Pine Tree grew very lonesome at times, and was glad to talk with any persons who came along, and they were few, I can tell you. Occasionally, it would look lovingly up to the father pine, and wonder if it could make him hear what it said. It would rustle its branches and shout by the hour, but the father pine heard him only once, and then the words were so mixed with falling snow that it was really impossible to say what they meant.

So the Pine Tree was very lonesome and no wonder. "I wish I knew of what good I am," he said to the grey rabbit one day. "I wish I knew,--I wish I knew," and he rustled his branches until they all seemed to say, "Wish I knew--wish I knew."

"O pshaw!" said the rabbit, "I wouldn't concern myself much about that. Some day you'll find out."

"But do tell me," persisted the Pine Tree, "of what good you think I am."

"Well," answered the rabbit, sitting up on her hind paws and washing her face with her front ones, in order that company shouldn't see her unless she looked trim and tidy--"well," said the rabbit, "I can't exactly say myself what it is. If you don't help one, you help another--and that's right enough, isn't it? As for me, I take care of my family. I hop around among the sagebushes and get their breakfast and dinner and supper. I have plenty to do, I assure you, and you must really excuse me now, for I have to be off."

"I wish I was a hare," muttered the Pine Tree to himself, "I think I could do some good then, for I should have a family to support, but I know I can't now."

Then he called across to the little stream and asked the same question of him. And the stream rippled along, and danced in the sunshine, and answered him. "I go on errands for the big mountain all day. I carried one of your cones not long ago to a point of land twenty miles off, and there now is a pine tree that looks just like you. But I must run along, I am so busy. I can't tell you of what good you are. You must wait and see." And the little stream danced on.

"I wish I were a stream," thought the Pine Tree. "Anything but being tied down to this spot for years. That is unfair. The rabbit can run around, and so can the stream; but I must stand still forever. I wish I were dead."

By and by the summer passed into autumn, and the autumn into winter, and the snowflakes began to fall.

"Halloo!" said the first one, all in a flutter, as she dropped on the Pine Tree. But he shook her off, and she fell still farther down on the ground. The Pine Tree was getting very churlish and cross lately.

However, the snow didn't stop for all that and very soon there was a white robe over all the narrow valley. The Pine Tree had no one to talk with now. The stream had covered himself in with ice and snow, and wasn't to be seen.

The hare had to hop around very industriously to get enough for her children to eat; and the sagebushes were always low-minded fellows and couldn't begin to keep up a ten-minutes' conversation.

At last there came a solitary figure across the valley, making its way straight for the Pine Tree. It was a lame mule, which had been left behind from some wagon-train. He dragged himself slowly on till he reached the tree. Now the Pine, in shaking off the snow, had shaken down some cones as well, and they lay on the snow. These the mule picked up and began to eat.

"Heigh ho!" said the tree, "I never knew those things were fit to eat before."

"Didn't you?" replied the mule. "Why I have lived on these things, as you call them, ever since I left the wagons. I am going back on the Oregon Trail, and I sha'n't see you again. Accept my thanks for breakfast. Good-bye."

And he moved off to the other end of the valley and disappeared among the rocks.

"Well!" exclaimed the Pine Tree. "That's something, at all events." And he shook down a number of cones on the snow. He was really happier than he had ever been before,--and with good reason, too.

After a while there appeared three people. They were a family of Indians,--a father, a mother, and a little child. They, too, went straight to the tree.

"We'll stay here," said the father, looking across at the snow-covered bed of the stream and up at the Pine Tree. He was very poorly clothed, this Indian. He and his wife and the child had on dresses of hare-skins, and they possessed nothing more of any account, except bow and arrows, and a stick with a net on the end. They had no lodge poles, and not even a dog. They were very miserable and hungry. The man threw down his bow and arrows not far from the tree. Then he began to clear away the snow in a circle and to pull up the sagebushes. These he and the woman built into a round, low hut, and then they lighted a fire within it. While it was beginning to burn the man went to the stream and broke a hole in the ice. Tying a string to his arrow, he shot a fish which came up to breathe, and, after putting it on the coals, they all ate it half-raw. They never noticed the Pine Tree, though he scattered down at least a dozen more cones.