LITMIR.BIZ

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      “A tree knows all the things which a tree needs for its own life, and for the life of the future, the billions of precious seeds which it makes.”

      “How does a tree speak to you, Glogo? Does it use words?”

      “A tree has no tongue with which to make words. A tree speaks in actions. If you love it and live with it, its spirit becomes one with yours and you understand it, and hate the madmen who murder it.”

      “Listen to me, Glogo. You are old and wise, and I am nothing but a child. I have lived only twenty-three years—and what can one learn in that time? I beg you humbly to tell me the secrets of the forest; and perhaps I can go back and teach them to men, and they will be less mad than they have been in the past.”

      Said the stern voice, after a pause: “You are asking me to break the rule of a million years. It is not only myself, it is all the generations of the gnomes who forbid me.”

      “But, Glogo, if a rule does not work—is not a million years’ trial enough? This rule has left only you and Bobo; and what is going to become of him when you are gone?”

      “Do not say that!” cried the voice from the azalea clump, in what seemed anger.

      “But it is true, Glogo. What is going to become of the race of gnomes, if you do not find a wife for your grandson?”

      There came only a moan out of the bushes.

      “You have thought of that, Glogo?”

      The answer came, almost a whisper: “I have thought of nothing else for many years.”

      “That is why you are so unhappy?”

      “I am the most unhappy of living things.”

      “But, Glogo,” broke in Bobo, “you don’t have to worry about me. I’m not missing a wife.”

      “Foolish boy,” said the voice. “All the future of the gnomes is missing your wife.”

      A long silence. Said Rodney at last: “I wish I could say that I know where there are other gnomes. But, as you know, they hide themselves from men. All that I can say is, I will be your friend if you will let me, and I will do everything in my power to search the forests and find more of your people. I will do that, whether or not you consent to teach me the wisdom of your forest.”

      For the first time the hidden voice showed signs of weakening. “That is fairly spoken. But do men ever mean what their words say?”

      “But,” argued the young man, “if we meant harm to you, we already have Bobo in our power. And as for you—when one has lived a thousand years, has he so much to risk?”

      “It is true.” And suddenly the bushes were parted, and there came out a figure of the same size as Bobo, with the same short trousers and little brown peaked cap. But the face of this little creature was longer, and had wrinkles in it, and a straggly gray beard reaching almost to the waist. “I am here,” said Glogo. “I will try to be your friend.”

      “I thank you, sir,” said Rodney, with a grave bow, which the old gnome gravely returned. “My name is Rodney; and this my little niece, Elizabeth.” Again the old gnome bowed.

      “And now,” continued Rodney, “I think we should make ourselves comfortable, so that we may talk.” He spread the robe on the floor of the forest, and Elizabeth set Bobo down.

      “Are you hurt?” demanded the old one; and Bobo answered that he was all right now, and proved it by jumping up.

      Elizabeth and Rodney seated themselves; and Glogo, at their invitation, took one corner of the robe—the one nearest to the bushes. From time to time he would glance about him nervously, and one could see that he was ready to leap up and dash away at the slightest sign of danger.

      “Let me tell you, to begin with,” said Rodney, “that I have been a student at what is called a university. May I ask, did you have those among the gnomes?”

      “We gnomes did most of our learning day by day, as we lived,” said Glogo. “We learned not merely from our elders, but from all things in nature, the spirits of the trees and the plants.”

      “All trees and plants have spirits, then?”

      “All living things have spirits. How else can they act? How can they grow?”

      “Are you able to exchange ideas with all these spirits?”

      “All living things exchange ideas, even though they may not know it.”

      “Tell me about the spirit of this fern, for example.” Rodney touched one close by his hand.

      “The spirit of the fern is like that of a woman,” said Glogo. “It is gentle, modest, and humble, but also very strong—nothing discourages it. You have thoughtlessly bent and hurt one; it will suffer in silence, but when you are gone it will bravely go on with its task of making beauty. The little girl will understand the spirit of the fern, which hangs curtains all over the forest, and cannot rest until it has made the place pretty and homelike.”

      “That is a very nice way to say it,” said Elizabeth. “I think I would understand the spirits of both the ferns and the flowers.”

      “I suppose,” said Rodney, “that one has to be very old indeed in order to know the spirit of one of these redwoods.”

      “A tree like that speaks of a great victory won. Millions of pounds of matter have been taken out of the earth with careful choice, and dissolved in water, lifted to those tremendous heights, and built into a tower which takes care of itself, and is safe against the blind forces of wind and fire. The spirit which builds that tree is strong and serene; it knows its power. It is in fact a great system, in which many spirits work in harmony. It is music which our Mother Nature has played for a hundred million years; and there has come only one voice to disturb it.”

      “I know what you mean,” said Rodney. “There was a wise old man among us who said that God had protected the redwoods against everything but fools.”

      “I am glad to hear of such a man,” replied Glogo. “It makes it easier for me to talk to you.”

      “Our wise old man added that only the state could protect the trees against the fools; and to some extent that is being done.”

      “I fear it is too late for my people,” said Glogo, and appeared to sink back into that mournfulness which had caused his case to be diagnosed as neurasthenia.

      “We are going to find out about it,” said Rodney, with the quick cheerfulness that has to be learned by those who attend mental patients. “But first let me explain that it is the hour when we big people are accustomed to have lunch. How is it with you, Glogo?”

      “We gnomes do not have regular hours for eating. We take our fern seed when and where we find it.”

      “I wonder if you would be willing to try some of the kinds of food we have brought with us?”

      Elizabeth began to unpack the lunch basket. She spread a paper tablecloth, and laid out four folded paper napkins. She took out the box of sandwiches, each wrapped in a piece of oiled paper. There were stuffed eggs, and a bottle of olives, and a little box of nuts, some lettuce and tomatoes, several ripe bananas, a bottle of milk, and the two thermos bottles. It was doubtless more food than the two gnomes had ever seen piled together in their many years of life. Bobo’s quick bright eyes moved from one object to another.

      First they must “wet their whistles,” said Rodney; and a difficulty arose at once, for the cups which they had with them were not of gnome size. “I will fix that,” said Bobo, eager to taste all these strange foods of the big people. Forgetting his hurts, he ran into the forest, and came back with two gleaming tiger lilies. He twisted out the stamens and pistils, and wiped the cups clean of the golden pollen. Then into each of them Elizabeth poured some lemonade out of the thermos bottle, and watched the faces of the two gnomes while they tasted it.

      “It

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