THE SUGAR PINE
Before the sugar pine came up in the meadow of Bright Water it had swunga summer long in the burnished cone of the parent tree, until the windlifted it softly to the earth where it swelled with the snow water andthe sun, and began to grow into a tree. But it knew nothing whatever ofitself except that it was alive and growing; and in its first season washardly so tall as the Little Grass of Parnassus that crowded the sod atthe Bright Water. In fact, it was a number of years before it began toovertop the meadowsweet, the fireweed, the tall lilies, the monkshood,and columbine, and under these circumstances it could not be expected tohave much of an opinion of itself.
During those years the young pine suffered a secret mortificationbecause it had no flowers. It stood stiff and trimly in its plain darkgreen, every needle like every other one, and no honey-gatherer visitedit. When all the meadow ran over with rosy and purple bloom, the pinetree trembled and beads of clear resin oozed out upon its bark liketears; and the trouble really seemed worse than it was because everybodymade so much of it. Even the hummingbirds as they came hurtling throughthe air would draw back conspicuously when they came to the pine, andthough they said politely, "I beg your pardon, I took you for a flower,"the seedling felt it would have been better had they said nothing atall.
"Well, why don't you grow flowers?" said the meadowsweet; "it is easyenough. Just do as I do," and she spread her drift of blossoms like afragrant snow. But the sugar pine found it impossible to be anything butstiff and plainly green, though every year in the stir and tingle of newsap he felt a promise of better things.
"I suppose," he said one day, "I must be in some way different from therest of you."
"Ah, that is the way with you solemn people," said the fireweed, "alwaysimagining yourself better than those about you to excuse yourdisagreeableness. Any one can see by the way you hold yourself that youhave too much of an opinion of yourself."
The little pine tree sighed; he had not said "better," only "different,"and he began to realize year by year that this was so.
"You should try to be natural," said the meadowsweet; "do not be sostiff, and then every one will love you though you are so plain."
Then the sugar pine reached out and tried to mingle with the flowers,but the sharp needles tore their frills and the stiff branches did notsuit with their graceful swaying, so he was obliged to give it up. Itseemed, in fact, the more he tried to be like the others the worse hegrew.
"If only you were not so odd," said all the flowers. None of the younggrowing things in the meadow understood that it is natural for a pinetree to be stiff.
The sugar pine was not always unhappy. There were days when he caughtgolden glints of the stream that ran smoothly about the meadow, in a bedof leopard-colored stones, and, reflecting all the light that fell intothe hollow of the hills, gave the place its name; days when the air waswarm and the sky was purely blue, and the resinous smell of the pines onthe meadow border came to the seedling like a sweet savor in a dream,for as yet he did not understand what he was to be. He was pleased justto be looking at the summer riot of the flowering things, and loved thecool softness of the snow when he was tucked into comfortable darknessto dream of the spring odor of the pines. Then, when it seemed that themeadow had forgotten him, the little tree would fall to thinking thethoughts proper to his kind, and found the time pass pleasantly.
"I suppose," he thought, "it is not good for me to flower as the otherplants. If I began like them I should probably end like them, and I feelthat I could not be satisfied with that. After all, one should not tryto be so much like others, but to be the very best of one's own sort."
Very early the young tree had noticed that he was the only one of allthat company that kept green and growing the winter through. He wouldhave been secretly very proud of it, but the flowers took good care tolet him know their opinion of such airs.
"It is simply that you wish to be considered peculiar," said thecolumbine; "one sees that you like nothing so much as to be in otherpeople's mouths, but let me tell you, you will not get yourself anybetter liked by such behavior." After that the little tree wishednothing so much as that he might be the commonest summer-flowering weed.
"But I am not," he said; "no, I am not, and I would do very well as I amif they would let me be happy in my own way."
That summer the seedling grew as tall as the meadowsweet, and could lookacross the open space to the parent pine poised on her noble shaft, herspreading crown gathering sunshine from the draughts of upper air. Sheseemed to rock a little as if she dozed upon her feet, and the greatsweep of limbs with pendulous golden cones made a gentle sighing. Thenthe despised little seedling felt a thrill go through him, and felt ashaking in all his slender twigs. He bowed himself among the lilies, andwas both glad and ashamed, for though he could not well believe it, heknew himself akin to the great sugar pines. After that he gave up tryingto be one of the flowers. Once he even ventured to speak of it to themeadowsweet.
"Well, if it is any satisfaction to you to think so; but do not let anyone else hear you say that. You are likely to get yourselfmisunderstood. I tell you this because I am your friend," said themeadowsweet, but really she had misunderstood him herself.
Then a rumor arose in the neighborhood that the sombre, stubborn shrubconceited himself to be a pine, and the rumor ran with laughter andnodding the length of the meadow until it reached the old alder on theedge of Bright Water. The alder had stood with his feet in the streamfor longer than the meadowsweet could remember, and saw everything thatwent on by reflection.
"Do not laugh too soon," said the alder tree, "I have seen strangerthings than that happen in this meadow," for he was indeed very old.
"We have known him a good many seasons," said the fireweed, "and he hasnot done anything worth mentioning yet."
All this was very hard for the young pine to bear, but there was bettercoming. That summer the forest ranger came riding in Bright Water and alearned man rode with him, praising the flowers and counting the numbersand varieties of bloom. How they prinked and flaunted in their pride!
"That is all very pretty, as you say," answered the ranger as they cameby the place of the pine, "and I suppose they perform a sort of servicein keeping the soil covered, but the trees are the real strength of themountain. Ah, here is a seedling of the right sort! I must give thatfellow a chance," and he began pulling up great handfuls of theblossoming things around the tree.
"What is it?" asked his companion.
"A sugar pine," he said; "probably a seedling of that splendid specimenyonder," and he went on clearing the ground to let in sun and air.
"But you must admit," said his friend, "that a seedling pine cuts rathera poor figure among all this flare of bloom."
"Oh, you wait fifty or sixty years," said the ranger, "and then you willsee what sort of a figure it makes. It really takes a pine of this sorta couple of hundred years to reach its prime," and they rode talking upthe trail.
Word of what had happened was carried all about the meadow and made agreat stir. When it came to the alder tree he wagged his old head. "Ah,well," he said, "I told you so."
"I will not believe it until I see it," said the fireweed.
"They might have known it before," sighed the young pine, "and theyought to be proud to think I grew up in the same meadow with them."
But they were not; they went on flaunting their blossoms as if nothinghad occurred, and the young tree grew up as he was meant to be, and thepines on the meadow border sent him greeting on the wind. He still kepthis trim spire-shaped habit, but he could very well put up with that forthe time being. He felt within himself the promise of what he was to be.After fifty or sixty years, as the ranger had said, he began to put outstrong cone-bearing boughs that shaped themselves by the storms and thewind in sweeping, graceful lines, and spread out to shelter the horde offlowering things below. Squirrels ran up the trunk and whistled cheerilyin his windy top.
"He grew here in our neighborhood," said the tall
lilies; "we knew himwhen he was a seedling sprig, and now he is the tallest of the pines."
"Suppose he is," said the fireweed. "What is the good of a pine treeanyway?"
But the sugar pine did not hear. He had grown far above the small folkof the meadow, and went on growing for a hundred years. He gathered thesun in his high branches and rocked upon his shaft. He talked gently inhis own fashion with his own kind.
AN OLD MINE From photograph by A. A. Forbes]