THE tree saw the departure of the gardener without fear, and looked forward to the coming winter with confidence. The prince had paid several visits to the place, seeking to find out the secret of the plant's strength, but so far in vain. So all through the winter the tree continued green and fresh, the one solitary spot in all that desert in which life was to be seen. The tree's life no longer hid itself in the roots from the winter's frost, but displayed the beauty of its verdure, though the snow lay thick upon its branches. One day in March when the wind had been blowing hard all night, the prince was taking a walk round the King's plot, his head turned away from the river, the sight of which he hated even more than the plant, when suddenly he was nearly tripped up by something that lay across his path. Stopping to look down at the obstruction, he saw it, was a root of the tree that had been blown bare by the wind. He was about to pass on carelessly, when he stopped, all his face lighted up with a savage joy. "I have it all," he said in triumph. "Fool that I was, not to have guessed it before. It is the river that keeps the plant so green. Now I understand its sudden recovery last year. The thing is as clear as possible." So saying, he went home, and soon returned in excellent spirits, armed, with a sharp ax and a spade. A few blows soon cut the root in two. The enemy was, however, too astute not to know that when there was one root there might very likely be two. Accordingly, he set to work with the spade, and in a few minutes laid bare, in the sandy soil, the second root of the poor tree. Again the cruel ax did its work, and now all direct connection between the plant and the river was cut off, and with these two strokes the prince had done more injury to the tree than the hottest sun or the fiercest wind could effect. Carefully covering up the severed roots that the gardener might not perceive what he had done, he returned home in triumph, quite satisfied that now, at last, he had struck the fatal blow.
For a few days the plant lived on the store of nourishment it had accumulated in its roots, but it had now grown to a large size, and required therefore much more support than when it was a tiny seedling. Spring was a trying time for the tree now. It made an effort to keep up a fresh appearance, but this soon died away, and when the old gardener returned, and once more pitched his tent in the old spot, a sad change had passed over the tree he had left so flourishing. Every branch and leaf was drooping, hardly a new shoot was to be seen. The poor man was much puzzled. He set to work with his can, but soon found that it had now quite outgrown his strength. All that he could do did not produce much effect. He certainly helped to keep the tree alive in the hot summer, but he did not revive its drooping looks, which said as plain as words could speak, "We want more water than you can supply." Convinced that somehow or other the enemy had interfered with the plant's growth, he was walking one day near the river when he noticed a certain spot where the earth had evidently been beaten down with great care. Returning to his tent, he fetched out a spade and began to dig carefully at the place. He soon came upon the severed roots, and at once the whole tale was told, both of secret sources of the plant's prosperity, and of its present drooping state.