Was it something in the ring of the manly voice which sounded familiar to the old dog’s ears, or was it the hospitality and courtesy of a well-bred old family servant that led Juba, once so frolicsome and lithe, slowly to rear up his heavy, rheumatic body, and languidly crawl along to reply to the friendly salutation?
“Juba, poor old fellow,” said papa, kindly patting the dog’s head, “are you and I indeed so old? Come, good doggie, and see my little boy. Don’t be afraid, darling, this is the very same Juba that pulled your papa out of the duck-pond yonder, where he had fallen in, whilst ‘paddling his own canoe.’”
The stiff old doggie responded kindly to Bear’s caresses, and to the child’s great delight, immediately crouched at his side, whilst papa, discouraged by his efforts with the old knocker, which never before had failed to procure for him a warm welcome, sat down by his side.
“Papa, will you please tell me again about the tree?”
“Yes, my son. It is more than a hundred years old, and was planted, when a little sapling, by one of the old inhabitants who gave to the farm its name. There is the date, on the old board fastened on the body of the tree. You see how those grand old branches touch the ground on all sides?
“This tree casts a shadow of one hundred feet. What stories, Auntie, it could tell of those who have sported under its shade, now old men and women! The young lovers of old now bring their children and grandchildren to feast here on the fruits, which to them have lost their sweetness. How many times those huge old furniture wagons have halted here, and deposited their burden of merry boys and girls for their yearly “school feast of berries and cream!”
“Papa, are there any more such trees in the world so large as this elm?”
“Oh! yes, my son, even very near Providence, in a little village called Johnston, there is one much larger; indeed, I think it is the largest in the country. A small house could be placed in the body very easily. Then, in California, I have seen cedar trees, whose trunks were so enormous that they were used as dancing halls. Fancy, Harry, how it must seem to be dancing to merry music in a huge room within a tree! There is one tree which has a world-wide reputation—the English have named it Wellingtonia—after your favorite Duke, but we Americans claim for it the name of Washingtonia. The Californians are justly proud of this old patriarch, and well they may be. Think of its being high as Trinity steeple, and a thousand years old!”
“But, Papa, how can anybody tell how old a tree is?—there are no people a thousand years old to tell when it was planted.”
“No, dear boy, but God tells us in this way. Have you never noticed in a piece of wood—but here is one just at hand. Do you see those different rings?”