"Nay, old oak," cried the palm, shaking her plumes in eager denial. "Whose branches did the multitude wave at the Master's entry into Jerusalem? I have been already chosen!" There were many in the forest who nodded their approval to this speech of the palm's, but the olive sighed, and whispered:
"I have watched with him in Gethsemane, and he has wet my feet with his tears."
"But I," cried the cedar, stretching his tense arms to the listening stars, "I heard his dying groans, and my heart is stained with his blood; it was upon me that his body was nailed—me, who watched over his boyhood on the plains of Nazareth!" The forest was very still as the cedar finished, and only the chestnut ventured to speak—shaking out her broad leaves, and distilling everywhere the heavy fragrance of her blossoms.
"I am ready for the feast," she said complacently. "Last night, while all of you were sleeping, an angel came, and lit these candles of mine."
Thus spoke among themselves the rulers of the forest, while the south wind played among their branches; nor did they notice the tiny tree that listened at their feet, and crooned lullabies to the drowsy birds.
The winged months flew by. In the forest, the days passed as before; and, after the south wind had sung its farewell to the tree-tops, the forest forgot the tidings which the breeze had brought. Only one tree remembered; the lullaby which it sang to the birds nestled in its arms was of the wonderful birthday festival of the Master.
Finally came the North Wind, calling to the forest to prepare for its long sleep. The trees, one by one, cast off their brilliant raiment—the cedar, last of all—and stood gaunt and naked under the dark sky. Only the tiny tree in the shadow of the oak did not heed, and bravely defied the fierce jestings of the North Wind. "Oho' little tree," he roared, whirling the snowflakes through its tiny boughs, "doff your green garment and go to sleep! Or, perhaps, you are waiting for the angel?" Then the forest laughed long and loud. "Little tree," it jeered, "cling to the oak; the angel will step upon you!"
But even as it jeered, a great light broke through the forest; the trees were afraid and bowed themselves as before a storm. And when they lifted up their heads, behold! the little tree stood straight and tall in its robes of green, and in its topmost branch there gleamed a star.
—Ida F. Treat.