"When they reached the spot where marks on the greensward showed where ‘Pale Eyes’ had been lying, she was nowhere to be found, neither was Poplar George. There were no signs of blood, only a lot of sawdust like comes from the workings of a cross-cut saw.
"The old ’Squire was nonplussed, but consented to accompany the boys to the scene of their wood cutting operations. ‘Pale Eyes’ was not there either, nor Poplar George. The newly formed leaves of the cottonwood–it was in the month of May–although the tree had only been cut and sawed into but an hour before, were scorched and withered.
"The ’Squire showed by his face how heartbroken he was to see the two picturesque trees so roughly treated, but he was too kindly and forgiving to chide the boys for their sake. As he was standing there, looking at the ruin, a number of school children, among them my mother, came along, for it was during the noon recess, or dinner hour. They saw the butchered trees, and learned of the events of the morning; several of them, prosaic backwoods youngsters, though they were, shed bitter tears.
“‘Dry your eyes,’ the ‘’Squire urged them, ‘else your people will think that the teacher licked you.’ Then they all chorused that it was a shame to have ruined the retreats of Poplar George and ‘Pale Eyes.’
“Evidently ’Squire Garnice was wise in the lore of mysticism, for he shook his head sadly, saying, ‘Never mind, you’ll never see Poplar George nor ‘Pale Eyes’ again.’
“It was a dejected company that parted with him at his gate. The old ’Squire was right, for never more was anything seen or heard of Poplar George and the mysterious ‘Pale Eyes.’ They must have been in some unknowable way connected with the lives of those two trees, the cottonwood and the tulip–their lives or spirits maybe, and when they were cut into, their spirits went out with them.
“I knew of a wealthy man who had a cedar tree in his yard, that when he fell ill, the tree became brown, but retained a little life. Finally it was cut down as an eyesore, and the gentleman died suddenly a few days afterward. That tree must have contained a vital part of his spirit.
“By fall the tulip tree looked as if it had been dead for years, and the bark was peeling off. As the wood of the poplar would not burn, and set up a fetid odor, the Fieldler boys never bothered to finish cutting down the hollow tulip tree, of which the shy wood sprite, ‘Pale Eyes,’ had been the essence.
"Much of the mystery and charm of that old grass-grown way along the gently flowing Pucketa had vanished with its Indian frequenters. But the memory of Poplar George and ‘Pale Eyes’ will never be forgotten as long as any of those children who were lucky enough to know them, remain in this world."