It was a chilly winter Saturday. Though the winds were cold, the
sunshine was bright and warm. After dinner Jacob put on his overcoat and
new red mittens and went, as he often did, with his father, who was
sexton of Evergreen cemetery. While his father was busy Jacob amused
himself.
He had never before noticed how bare the great trees looked. Their limbs
reached out like hundreds of crooked arms between him and the blue sky.
As he looked around here and there he could see a tree wearing a dark
green coat. Most of them were small, but some were tall and pointed. A
pretty good sized, umbrella-shaped one grew near where his father was
digging a grave.
Full of boyish life and spirits he ran to it playfully shouting: “I am a
squirrel hunting a nut and will climb up among your branches.” But he
tried in vain. The lowest limbs were so high above his head that he
could not reach them.
“Never mind,” said he, “I will hunt a nut on the ground.”
Dropping on all fours he began to crawl around. Soon his hand came down
upon something hard under the dead leaves which covered the ground. Now
he thought he had really found a nut. It was roundish, with blunt spines
and woody, and like no nut which he knew. Hunting a loose brick he
cracked it upon a stone. Two or three little round things with gauzy
wings dropped out.
This roused his curiosity. He now searched round and round for others.
He spied a small branch which had broken off and dropped to the ground.
As he snatched it up an end whirled round, striking his face. “How you
stick!” cried he. He pulled off a mitten to feel what was so sharp. He
noticed that the branch was bare, black and full of scars except at the
end of each branchlet, where bunches of green sharp needles about as
large as his mother’s darning needles were growing.
“Why, old tree,” said he, “where are your leaves?”
Now the tree heard every word which Jacob said but it could not make
Jacob hear its answers.
At the tip of each branchlet was a pink bud, and near some of these was
a little, tender thing about the shape of, though smaller, than the
English sparrow’s egg. These he could pinch into pieces. But lower down
on the branchlets, among the queer needles, were others not so large nor
so dry as the odd fruit which he had found on the ground. They were not
so easily destroyed. 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 is a first cousin. Its family lives on the mountains of Austria.
It is known as black pine or Austrian pine.
“Do you see that tall pine near that massive monument?”
“Where?” he asked, looking around.
“Just behind you,” said Scotch pine, nodding its head in that direction.
“Oh, yes, I see now. Such a tall, straight trunk! Its crown grows in a
point, making one think of a high church steeple piercing the sky.”
“As its limbs are above your reach it is useless for you to try to get a
branch. If you will get papa to break you a twig some day, and you
examine it, you will find that its needles, which are finer than mine,
are in bunches of five. See when the wind blows how gracefully her
boughs bend and sway. Go there and look at the cones.”
Off he went. Returning soon, he said: “The cones are not at all like
yours; they are long and different in shape. The silky needles look
something like a paint brush at the end of each twig.”
“It is a far more beautiful tree than I, so straight and lofty. Its
pointed top looks down upon all the other great trees in this cemetery.
If you could go through Canada and northern United States, especially
around the Great Lakes, you would see great forests of this—the white
pine. As its wood contains little resin it looks white, and is not so
valuable for fuel. As it is easily nailed and worked, it is said to be a
soft wood. You can whittle it with your knife which Santa brought you.
Furniture, shingles, laths, boards and many other things are made of it.
“If you could tramp around the Rocky Mountains you would find another
soft pine tree, popularly called the sugar pine because the burnt resin
has at times been used by the Indians for sugar. Coarse cakes are made
from its nut-like seeds. Its cones grow to be more than a foot long. Its
leaves, too, grow in fives.
“The pine growing in the South, known as the Southern or Georgia pine,
has yellow, hard wood. It is heavy and very strong. It makes fine
lumber, ties, fuel, fencing and furniture. It is used in shipbuilding
and for other things when a durable wood is needed. It is rich in
turpentine, resin and tar. Indeed, the markets of Europe are supplied
with those articles largely by the Scotch pine and those of the United
States, chiefly by the Georgia pine. Because of the length of the
southern pine’s needles, which sometimes measure more than a foot, it is
sometimes called the long-leaved pine. The leaves grow in threes. Its
large cone also contains seeds, which are eaten.”
One day when visiting the pine, Jacob said: “When I get big I mean to
visit some of the pine forests.”
“Go as soon as you can, then, my boy. In cutting pine timber men are so
thoughtless and lacking in foresight and management that they are being
cleared away very fast.”
“Then I must try to teach them to know the pines better and to love them
more for their beauty and their great usefulness. Then I am sure they
will use better judgment.”
“Thank you, Jacob.”
Another day Jacob asked: “Have you told me of all your cousins?”
“Oh, no, indeed. I have told you of only a few of my nearest ones. There
are seventy first cousins, of which thirty-five different ones are
American trees. Then there is a host of more distant relatives. There
are the twelve spruces, with short, sharp-pointed, four-cornered needles
which grow singly all around the branches. They like cool places, and
make their homes in great forests at the north or on mountains. The fir
sisters and brothers have flat, blunt leaves growing on opposite sides
of the branches, making them look like combs. The larches, who lose
their needles in the fall; the cedars, the junipers, the arbor vitæ, the
great California redwood—there are so many I can not name them all! They
all belong to the cone bearing families.”
Jacob, who loved the talking pine tree, spent many happy hours in its
shade and learning lessons taught by it. Through it he came to know of
the wonderful great trees of California; of what the straight, tall
masts of ships see; of secrets known only by telegraph and telephone
poles; of the sweet sounds of musical instruments; of things which props
can tell of mining affairs; of the travels of railroad ties and the
tragedies which occur within their sight; of the water folk with whom
bridge piles neighbor; of the animals whose hides the evergreen barks
help to tan; of the birds and animals who seek the shelter of these
trees and feed upon their seeds and young buds; and of beautiful things
with which loving hands deck the gay Christmas tree and the hosts of
happy children who love it most of all trees.
Every child who will select a favorite tree and watch it with patient,
loving care will also find himself helped. Although it may not be able
to talk as Jacob’s talking pine tree did, if he will but be faithful to
its lessons it will teach him many useful facts; will prompt him to
reach, like a tree, upward and outward, and to throw out from his life
an influence as healthful and pure as the fragrance of the pine.
Loveday Almira Nelson.
[Illustration: KING RAIL.
(Rallus elegans.)
½ Life-size.
FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.]
THE KING RAIL.
(_Rallus elegans._)
The King Rail is the largest of the American true rails and is favored
with a number of popular names. It is known as the Red-breasted Rail,
the Marsh Hen, the Sedge Hen and the Mudhen. It frequents the
fresh-water marshes of the eastern United States and is found as far
north as Maine and Wisconsin and as far west as Kansas.
This fine bird very closely resembles the clapper rail which inhabits
the saltwater marshes of eastern North America. The two species,
however, may be easily distinguished by the difference in size and
color. The clapper rail is much smaller and the upper parts are more
ashy or grayish in color and the lower parts are duller and more
yellowish.
Fifteen of the one hundred and eighty known species of the family
Rallidæ, which includes the rails, gallinules and coots, inhabit North
America.
The rails are not fitted for easy flight and find safety from an enemy
by running and hiding, only taking to flight when all other means of
escape have been exhausted. They not only have “a body proportioned and
balanced for running, but also capable of compression to the narrowness
of a wedge, in order to pass readily through the thick growths of the
marshes, and also to aid them, perhaps, in their peculiar habit of
walking on the bottom under the water in search of food.” Their feet,
because of their large size and the length of the toes, are well adapted
to the soft mire and floating vegetation in which they live. With long
legs and well developed muscles the rails are able to “run like very
witches in their reedy mazes, and were it not for their sharp, cackling
voices, their presence would scarcely be detected.”
Unless approached too rudely, the female when setting on her nest will
allow a very close inspection. She will seem to be as interested in the
observer as he is in her. There will seem to be an expression of wonder
in her face. If she is approached more closely than she likes she slips
from her nest and gracefully runs through the reeds and grass and soon
disappears.
The nest is usually constructed with flag stems and grasses. When the
nests are built on dry ground they are usually placed in a depression in
a tuft of grass and somewhat resemble the nest of the meadow lark. The
nests are usually placed over water in tufts of marsh-grass or flags.
Frequently the bottom of the nest is in the water and the top a few
inches above it.
Mr. Silloway says: “The King Rail is said to be irritable and
quarrelsome in its disposition, and it is especially overbearing toward
its neighbors. The species should be named the ‘queen rail,’ for the
female is without doubt the head of the family. Is it not she who
sometimes takes possession of the homes of her meek neighbors, the
gallinules? Is it not she who defends her home so spiritedly when it is
threatened? Hence it seems to me that the King Rail is more king by
marriage than in his own right. She lords it over the gentle-spirited
mudhens with whom she dwells, and frequently saves herself the labor of
making a nest and the time to lay so many eggs, by appropriating both
nest and eggs of a comfortably settled gallinule. I have frequently
found nests containing incubated eggs of the Florida gallinule and fresh
eggs of the rail—indubitable evidence to me that the rail was the
usurper of the home.”