ONCE securely united and buried beyond possibility of further injury, the severed roots soon united, and now again the tree felt the refreshing power of the river in every pore.
Gradually it grew higher and higher, not in the quick unhealthy way it had been drawn up in the glass house, but developing in strength even faster than in height. So thick was its trunk that the fiercest blasts never shook it. It stood a monument of the triumph of the King's seed, of life in the midst of death. Many came year after year to see the tree, which was indeed a wonderful sight. Green all the year round, its refreshing foliage, seen afar oft, like an oasis in the desert, across the burning sand, gladdened the eye in the hot summer's day; just as in winter, the only green spot in a white world of snow, it still asserted the power of its changeless life. Great was the curiosity of many of the travelers to find how such a mighty tree flourished in a wilderness, in spite of howling winds and barren sands, and equally great was the delight of the old gardener, who now lived on the spot, to tell the story of the plant's hidden sources of strength. Every season quantities of ripe sweet fruit was sent from the far off desert to the King's table, and it is said that amongst all his dainties there was nothing the King enjoyed so much as the fruit of the desert tree. What delighted the plant the most was, that none of the praise was bestowed on itself; for it had lost all the pride it had long ago. Some praised the gardener's care and skill, some the King's love and wisdom, but most delighted to stand by the broad river, and, in its cool refreshing waters to see the sources of the life of the desert tree. The prince, discouraged and utterly baffled, no longer hoped to gain the little plot for his own, for not only did the spreading branches of the King's tree take all life out of the few remaining thorns and weeds, but they stretched over the desert itself. Worst of all in one of his walks he noticed some tiny plants opening their first leaves under the protection of the tree, that were evidently neither thorns nor weeds, but must have sprung from seeds dropped by the King's plant. News also of the approaching end of his own rule over the desert began to reach him. In his rage he did all he could.
The fiercest heats the tree had known, beat down upon it in the summer, the most withering blasts howled through the desert, the most piercing cold froze it in winter; but so great was the strength it got from the river, that they could not cause even its leaves to fade. There it stood, a tower of strength, a grateful shelter to the passing traveler, causing him to sing songs of praise to the One who had made such an oasis in the desert, a monument to the life giving power and satisfying waters of the river of the King. Sometimes the tree wondered what was to be its ultimate destiny. Was it ever to be surrounded with nothing but a trackless desert, was it always to bear the sun and frost. Rumors had reached it from time to time of other lands where there were no burning sands or cruel enemies, and sometimes it longed to be there, but then again it thought, no! I would rather have all the trials of the desert and my beloved river to sustain me, than the most luxuriant soil without it. It had heard of a coming day when all the desert should revert to the King, and it contented itself with the thought that perhaps it should live till that time.
One day strange news came to the desert. The old gardener received a hasty message to say that, as fruit-bearing time was now over, and that as the King was satisfied with the success of the seed which had fully proved its power by means of the water of the river, to live in a desert where everything was against it, as it had thus triumphed in the midst of a scene of death, he was now going to have it transplanted to his own garden, by the side of the river's fountain-head, there to rejoice him and all his court with the display of its never fading flowers, while it still drew its strength from the same waters that had sustained it in the desert.
The old gardener's feelings were very mingled as he read all this. Joy for the plant, sorrow that the King had not sent for him yet, and yet joy again as he thought that his tried and faithful master must have some further work in the desert for him, ere he called him home. "Ah,” he said, "he means me to stay awhile and care for the little seedlings left behind."
The plant was now covered with a wonderful show of fruit, all of which the gardener carefully gathered, knowing it was the last time he should ever see any on the much-loved tree, and then despatched as usual to the King. Somehow or other the plant got to know the news. At first it was filled all over with a strange trembling joy at the thought of the eternal pleasure in store for it, so far beyond its highest thoughts, and then a new thought struck it as it looked at the tiny seedlings so confidingly trusting to its shelter. "Ah, what will they do," it thought, "when I am gone. Is there nothing I can do to help them?"
After much thought one evening, when all was hushed to silence, and nothing was to be seen but the silent stars as they kept watch over the desert, the old tree thus addressed the seedlings:-