“I dno.” Buddy fell into a meditative sucking of his thumb once more. The question of his daddy had been one never referred to in the house. He had gone away with the soldiers when the Great War broke out. This was before Buddy was born. For some time they had received letters, but now for more than three years there had been no word. In secret Mama had likely shed many tears. As far as Buddy was concerned, it never seemed to make any difference. He had never known a father, and had lived a happy child and taken all good things for granted. Like the sparrows of the field, he had lived without a care. The thought of a father had hardly come into his life. For this reason the words were all the more a surprise, and old, gray-headed Uncle John sat struck silent in wonder at the boy.
“Me got letter, too, Unc’e Don,” explained Buddy, and his old Uncle laughed.
“Who wrote the letter, Buddy?” inquired Uncle.
“Aw—jes’ one o’ dem bill ones,” explained Buddy.
And Uncle John laughed again.
“Aw’fu’ big tree, Unc’e Don,” remarked Buddy, all of a sudden, changing the subject.
“I suppose it has grown big,” answered Uncle; “I remember when your grandfather planted that tree. It wasn’t so big then.”
“Grannyfader, he plant it?” Buddy showed a surprised interest.
“Yes, long ago. It must have grown big since then. Most of the trees he planted have died I suppose.”
The pine tree was indeed a large one. Standing as it did away from the corner of the house, it rose a straight pine trunk, its green top reaching far above the roof of the house. The tree looked like a pyramid or cone, had in fact grown more and more into the shape of a cone. The branches reached out in a remarkably straight way, the lower ones being of extraordinary length. The green spines with an occasional cone contrasted with the brown and rough bark. It was indeed a noble tree, and had grown nobly in its place since the day “Grannyfader” set out the original little pine shoot.