He picked them off and put them in his pockets.
“You’re a funny tree! Why do you not have nuts which hungry boys can eat?”
Jumping to his feet he looked up into the branches. They were all bare except for the needles growing on the branchlets. The tree was dotted with the odd nuts.
“What kind of a tree are you? You are not at all like our pretty oak or maple trees. Your branches grow nearly straight out. I should not like to live in a graveyard and look at tombstones all the time.”
He hunted around for clods and dead branches which, in his efforts to throw over its crown, he threw into and through the tree.
“You’ll see, Mr. Tree, some day, I’ll be able to throw higher,” said our cheerful Jacob.
Just then Rover came running to him and they had one of their jolly romps on the dry grass and leaves. Presently, tired out with their sport, both boy and dog dropped to sleep. Now was the pine tree’s chance.
“Jacob, Jacob!” called the tree; “I am a pine tree.” One of the little, green fairy spirits who made her home among the branches had cast such a spell over Jacob that now he could hear every word the tree said as plainly as when his mamma spoke.
“When you come to know me and my friends better you will love us for our youth and worth as well as for our beauty,” said the pine. “See – the oaks and maples are mere dark skeletons. What you call needles are our leaves. They never all leave us at once. In our family our faithful leaves serve us for two years. When a new growth covered with fresh needles comes at the end of a branch the old needles drop, it is true, leaving our branches full of scars. Since others never grow in these same places our larger branches are left bare; but the bunches of needles on the new growth keep us always green.
“That hard thing which you found, and which you supposed to be a nut, was a mature dry cone. In our cones we hide our seeds, which have wings, so that they fly on the wind to a good resting and growing place. The little, tender balls which you found near the young bud at the end of the branchlet is a new cone just started this year. The harder, darker growth farther down among the needles is a last year’s cone.
“My home is not in this country. I was brought from a country of highlands and mountains where the Scottish people live. I am called a Scotch pine. I do not choose to live in a graveyard, but I am willing to serve man and God by doing my best wherever I chance to be. My comrades and I have been placed here by mourning friends for a token of the constant remembrances and love which are held for their friends who have passed away.
“In our native land my brothers grow to be very large, sometimes living for three or four hundred years. As we grow at the top, keeping our rounded shape, our lower branches drop off.”
“Are you only useful for planting in graveyards?” asked Jacob.
“Oh, no, indeed! We furnish excellent timber, called red pine, which is of great use for fuel and in ship and house building. When our trees are cut through the bark, sap runs out. When this is strained it is called turpentine, which is used so much in medicine, by painters and by other workmen. Oil of turpentine is also made from our leaves and cones. When you have a very bad cold your mamma sometimes rubs turpentine on your chest.”
“Oh, yes, I remember,” said Jacob; “it has a strong smell.”
“The dregs harden,” continued the pine, “and are called resin. This is used in making yellow soap, ointments and plasters. Our wood is burned to make charcoal, tar and pitch. Even the soot is saved, and called lampblack.
“Charcoal is good for many things. Doctors use it. Placed in a cistern filter it purifies the water. It is burned for fuel, especially when a fire with no smoke is wanted.
“As water cannot get through tar and pitch, these are used in protecting wood from water. Hence they are put on the outside of ships, on the inside of water casks, and on roofs. They are used in making a black varnish with which people coat iron pumps and fences to keep them from rusting. Did you see the men making the hard asphalt pavement which leads to the vault?”
“Oh, yes. They had a big kettle of tar, didn’t they?”
“Yes. Stick out your foot.”
Jacob did as told.
“You have shining patent leather tips on your shoe toes. Ask papa to tell you how patent leather is prepared.
“Lampblack is mixed with white lead to make paint. If a little lampblack is used a gray is made. Enough can be used to make the paint black. Less makes a slate color.”
“How much you can do! How useful you are!” said Jacob.
“That is not all,” said the Scotch pine. “In some places my needles are made into shreds which are used in stuffing cushions. Our roots, which contain so much resin that they burn with a bright blaze, are burned for lights in cottages of the poor. Fishermen make ropes of our inner bark. Laplanders and some other peoples dry and grind our inner bark. After steeping this in water to remove the strong taste it is made into a coarse bread.
“Now,” said the tree, who could see some distance, “your father has finished his digging. If you will come again my little fairies can again cast a spell so that we can talk together, and I will tell you something about my cousins. I have a large number of first cousins, second cousins, and more distant ones. Ours is one of the largest tree families.”
“Indeed, I will come again.”
Just then his father’s footsteps among the dry leaves roused Rover, and both jumped to their feet.
“Why!” exclaimed papa; “I supposed that you two rogues had gone home.”
When they reached home papa, who knew nothing of pine tree fairies, told mamma that Rover and Jacob had been playing “babes in the wood.”
The next week was a stormy one and the days were growing shorter. But on Friday the clouds cleared and Jacob begged to go into the cemetery to play after school. But his mamma said it was too damp. However, on Saturday afternoon she said that he might, and he eagerly donned his overcoat and mittens.
“Good afternoon, pretty tree,” he said as he and Rover came near.
As the tree said “How do you do?” it tried its best to nod its head and reach out a limb to shake hands.
The fairy had done as the tree promised, and Jacob heard. He clapped his hands in glee. Thinking that Jacob meant to play with him, Rover showed that he was ready for a frolic. But Jacob curtly said, “Get down, Rover! Listen – the pine tree is talking again.”
Rover could not hear the tree, but he sat still and looked at his master in surprise.
“Good old tree,” said Jacob in a gentle voice. “I could scarcely wait until today. You promised to tell me of your relations.”
“Certainly, I shall be pleased to do so,” said the pine, who never tired of talking of the good traits of its family and friends. “Where is the little limb you had the other day?”
“Here it is,” picking it up.
“Look closely at my leaves. Did you ever notice anything peculiar about the way they grow?”
“No. Oh, I see. The needles grow in pairs. Two seem to be wrapped together at the stem end.”
“That is it. I have a cousin who stands just on the other side of that great elm tree. Under it is a rustic bench. See if by standing on it you cannot reach a twig. If you can, bring it here.”
Jacob did as directed.
“Now look at those needles. Are ours alike?”
“No; these are coarser, longer and darker than yours; though they grow in twos.”
“Right. Run back and look at the cones.”
When he returned he said: “I could not get a cone, but I can see that those are coarser and larger, too.”
“How about the shape of the tree?”
“You two grow very much alike.”
“That