NEXT spring, however, the plant itself favored his devices, and injured itself in a most unexpected way. Secure from injury through the king's care through the winter, when the growing season returned it felt so strong and vigorous that it began to get discontented with the little plot of ground that had been so carefully prepared by the king, and seeing the weeds flourishing so well in the sand, thought that it too would begin spreading its roots. Although still carefully watered, it did not see why it should be entirely dependent on the gardeners and why it should not seek food for itself. Now this was a right thought in its way, but the plant carried it out in a very wrong manner, hence its first efforts at independence were a terrible failure. If the plant had pushed out its roots by the river all would have been well, but instead of doing so it began to send long fibers under the sand in search of nourishment. One day the prince perceived one of the little roots that, being near the surface, had been laid bare by the wind, and he saw at once a new means of injuring the plant. Every night he carefully watered the sand around, so that the plant, instead of finding its roots parched with the heat, actually found they were moist and fresh, and as burrowing beneath the sand was so much pleasanter than trying to find food among the rocks and stones, it pushed root after root in the same direction, lured on to its own hurt.
As soon as the prince thought it had grown as far in this direction as it would, he discontinued the watering. Summer was now coming on, and the sand soon began to get burning hot. The poor plant found out its mistake, but discovered too that it is easier to shoot out roots than to pull them in again; so it had to suffer and find out by bitter experience that the soil that suited the thorn, was not fitted for the king's seed.
It was surely no wonder that its leaves and branches began to droop in such a way as greatly to perplex the gardeners. They had continued carefully watering the plant, little thinking that half the water was wasted in the desert sand. The plant had thought to make itself independent of them altogether; now, alas, it found that even all the water could not keep it fresh while its roots were so far in the desert sand.
Driven to their wits' end, and not knowing the real cause of the mischief, instead of asking the king's advice, who was always ready to confer with them about the plant, they thought they would take matters into their own hands, and try and put things right. So they had a consultation together. One said, "What the plant wants is more stimulating food, something that will excite it to grow faster than mere water.
No," said another, "it is not that at all. I think the summer has been too hot for it, and the coming winter will be too cold: it ought to have a more even temperature.”
"Whatever we can do we cannot alter the temperature," broke in a third. "Besides, if we did, it would do little good, for the fierce winds do just as much harm as the cold."
“If you had not interrupted me," pursued the other, "I could have told you of a plan that has long been in my head, that would both regulate the heat, and shut out the winds as well."
"Tell us your plan," said the other two.
"Well," he replied, "I should erect a glass house, this autumn, over the young plant, and then with a good stove we could defy both the winds and cold."
"Capital," they both replied, "let us set about it at once."
"Let me have a word first," broke in the fourth gardener, who had not spoken yet. "I think you are all wrong.” When the king sent us to nourish this plant he did not give us authority to try newfangled plans of our own inventing, but told us to do nothing but regularly water the plant with pure water from the river. He especially said that nothing was to be mixed with it, and also that this winter there was to be no matting, as the plant was hardy enough now to do without."
"But the king does not know how sickly the plant is," rejoined the gardener who had proposed the glass house.
"Then you should let him know."
"And meanwhile the plant would be dead. No, no. I say if we have intellects we are meant to use them."
"But not in the king's affairs."
"On the contrary, I think that it is then we ought to use them the most. So if my two friends are agreed we will put up the house and try our plan, and you will see if the king will not be pleased with the plant's appearance next spring."
"Your plan," rejoined the old gardener, "seems a good one, but as it is not in my orders I cannot help you in it."
So saying, he wished the three good-bye and set off home, leaving the others to use their intellects to the best advantage.