After a brief period workmen were seen in the forest felling the trees.

“Ah!” exclaimed the old pine who had refused to give its life for the travelers, “I don’t see as we have gained anything.  If our life is to go, it might as well have gone by the fire as by the axe.”

“Just so,” answered the beach, “only if we had perished by the fire we might now be coming again into another form of life, as our oak seems to be, from that pile of dust and ashes; for see what lovely blossoms are coming forth from that unsightly heap of dust.”

“I heard the workmen say that all these trees were to be cleared away, and houses erected on the land,” remarked a trembling ash, and her leaves quivered beyond their wont with the terror of this new thought.

“And that will surely be the end of us,” moaned the pine.

“Our happy life is all over now,” said a small fir, who would have continued bemoaning their destiny had not her attention at that instant been arrested by two forms entering the forest.  They went to the spot where once stood the brave oak, and gazed admiringly on the lovely tinted blossoms.  They had heard of the sacrifice of the tree, and had come to gaze upon its resurrection.

“We will gather some for our festival to-night,” they said, and stooped to pluck the fragrant blossoms.

The fire had not destroyed the consciousness of the oak:  its soul was still alive, enjoying its new form of existence, and it sent forth thrills of gratitude, which took the form of sweetest odor, filling the air around with fragrance.  “Instead of losing my life it is being extended, even as the good leader of the people said,” were its words as the two departed, bearing the flowers, instinct with its oak life, away.

Many went to the forest while the workmen were there, to gather the seeds of the rare blossoms to plant in their gardens.

How much of human life did the soul of the oak learn as it went forth thus amid the throngs of people; and how it rejoiced that it had given its life for the good of others, knowing not that greater bliss was in store for it!  It was held in the hands of the aged; it crowned fair brows; it was carried to the bedside of the suffering; it was laid upon the caskets of the dead; it was planted by the door of the cottage and reared in the conservatories of the rich,—­everywhere admired and welcomed.  Was not this life indeed worth all the pain and heat of the flames, and the loss of its once statelier and loftier form?

It never sighed for its forest home, but often longed to know of the fate of its brother trees.  One day a child, bearing in her hand one of its blossoms, wandered to the ground where once arose the tall trees.  The eyes of the oak, through the flower, looked in vain for its kindred.  None were standing.  They had all been felled and their wood converted into dwellings,—­a useful but less beautiful form of existence than that which the oak possessed,—­and