FOR some time after the gardener left the young tree got on pretty well. The ground was very moist all around beneath the surface, and as its roots now stretched all over the little plot of ground owned by the king, it could take full advantage of every drop of water it had received. But by degrees the power of the sun not only dried up the earth on the surface, but made itself felt by the uppermost roots of the plant, which got sadly burnt in the hard soil. But still the young tree kept heart, and kept sending its roots deeper and deeper in search of moisture. It was evident, however, that such a state of things could not last long. Either some one must take pity on the plant and give it some water, or, to all appearances, it would certainly die.
But no one came and that autumn the sun blazed unusually fiercely. The prince, indeed, saw that now, if ever, was the time to kill the tree, and if he could only dry up its roots, he knew the winter frosts would completely freeze the life out of all that was above the ground. It was he that kept the sun blazing down upon it (for not only had he rule over the desert, but he had also a great power in the air as well). He too raised blinding storms of hot sand against it, burying and shriveling up its leaves as if they were in a furnace. Indeed, the hot blast of the desert was far more trying now to the plant than the rays of the sun. Formerly, it had been able to retire into its roots when the heat came, but now they were so parched and dried they could give no refreshment. Day after day passed on, no relief came; all the plant's beauty had gone. Not only had the leaves begun to fall as usual at the approach of winter, but those that remained were all withered up.
The prince now spent nearly all his time watching the plant, and great was his joy at its weak state. He had been pleased at the building of the glass house, for he foresaw plainly how the gardener's folly would end, but now he was positively delighted. "At last," thought he, "I shall have my triumph, and prove that, after all, not all the king's power, nor all the king's seed, nor all the king's gardeners can keep a plant alive in my desert. No doubt, ere long, I shall get full possession of this little plot."
But even as these thoughts passed through his mind, one thing kept troubling him, “Why had the king sent the old gardener away? The tree had got on very well under his care, it had grown strong and hardy with the regular watering, and yet all had been suddenly stopped, and if the plant did die, it was evidently quite as much for want of water as from the sun's heat. That is to say, to all appearances the king was as anxious to kill the plant as himself. This greatly puzzled him, and the more he thought of it the less he felt he understood it. Still, in one sense it did not concern him, all he was anxious about was the death of the plant, and whether it was by fair means or foul did not greatly matter.
So still the hot wind blew, still the ardent rays of the sun beat down upon the tree until it was near death's door. On its part all hope had now departed, and the prince's success seemed certain, and the very thorns and weeds themselves, that still flourished, gazed with delight at the wretched appearance of the plant.
An event now happened that upset all their calculations. The tree had, as we have said, sent its roots deeper and deeper into the soil, but even these failed now to find any moisture. Others of the roots had spread out nearer the surface, and one in particular had not only traversed the entire plot, but run into the desert beyond, in the vain hope that somehow or other it might meet with a little moisture. All these fruitless efforts, however, only exhausted the plant. One day, however, a day never to be forgotten by the tree, this long root fiber, in burrowing along under the sand, came upon some firm, tenacious earth such as it had never met before, which appeared quite moist.
Gathering up all its strength with one dying effort, the plant succeeded in forcing its way by some means through this stratum of clay, which at that part was very thin, and the next moment a thrill of strange delight was felt in every part of the long root, whose end had now reached the river itself. In a few moments the cool, refreshing stream had reached the trunk, spread along the other roots, and was rapidly ascending the branches. Higher and higher it went, for the supply was boundless, till every leaf that still remained on the almost bare branches felt its invigorating power. All the bent and drooping twigs began again to revise and straighten themselves.
The weeds looked on in amazement at the sudden change, for there was no apparent cause for it. The river rolled where it ever did, but never had the roots of a plant stretched so far, and they had been so long accustomed to its being there that not for one moment did the thought strike them that it might be the source of the tree's refreshment. For a long time they believed that the old gardener paid nightly visits with his can, and thus sustained the plant.
Intense, indeed, was the mortification of the prince next morning, and great was his astonishment at the altered appearance of the plant. A night spent in company with the precious river had wrought wonders. Not only had all the old leaves revived, and spread out their glossy surfaces to the sun they no longer feared, but the whole plant looked as vigorous as if it had never suffered at all.
He saw at a glance he had again been foiled; how he knew not, and as the sunshine now only seemed to nourish the plant, and even the wind did not hurt it, he left off his attacks, and retired vanquished from the scene.