But this the Fallen Tree could not believe, and so he answered sharply:
"Now, Little Tree, how can that be? Tall as I was, and high as I stood when I was monarch of this forest, never once could I send my songs to the Stars, although I tried to do so many times. Now surely such a little tree as you could not accomplish what a monarch failed to do! You have learned wisdom without doubt, and you sing very sweetly, I daresay; but take care lest your dreaming lead you in untruthful ways."
"Oh, pray believe me!" cried the Little Tree. "Wait only until the twilight comes, and the Night Wind himself will tell you so."
"More foolish talk!" scoffed the Fallen Tree. "The Night Wind is but a feeble creature to a monarch of the forest, such as I. When I stood aloft in all my glory, the Night Wind could not bend the smallest twig of mine unless I willed it so."
"That is true, my friends," spoke a gentle voice beside them. It was the voice of the Night Wind, for all unknown to them, darkness had fallen. "Because you were so proud and held your branches firm against my gentle breezes, never once did I carry your songs to the Stars; but I have done so for the Little Tree." Then he brushed aside the branches of the tall trees, and the Little Tree sang to her shining audience so far above in heaven. She sang until the Fallen Tree slept, and then the Night Wind gently dropped the branches until the forest was all dark once more. Then he kissed the Little Tree farewell and blew upon his way.
Now, as more people came to dwell upon the earth, more trees were needed every year to shelter them. The forest was no longer dark and silent. The woodman's ax rang out, and here and there the sun shone down where groves of noble trees had once stood. But even so, the ferns and flowers and grasses did not bloom again. The woodcutters made dusty roads and trails, and heaps of dead leaves eddied in the breeze. At last one day a certain king gave orders that all remaining trees of this forest should be cut down. He planned to build a noble city where the forest stood. Now charcoal fires flared all night, and herds of oxen tramped the whole day through, and soon a dreary waste of withering branches whose brown leaves crackled dismally was all that remained of the noble forest.
"Ah, Little Tree," the Night Wind mourned, "there is no longer any need for me. When the forest stood, it was my work and pleasure to brush the fallen leaves and lull the trees to sleep. Indeed, were it not for you, I would be desolate. Each night I tremble lest I shall not find you awaiting me."
"Ah, Night Wind," replied the Little Tree softly, "it is because you love me that you fear to lose me; but do not be troubled. I have seen great trees fall to my right and to my left, and small trees likewise, yet no one seems to want me. I am such a little tree; I am sure that you will find me here forever. That does not grieve me, even so, for I have come to love you dearly, and it would break my heart to be parted from you."
Then one dull winter's day, the Little Tree felt a human hand laid on her slender trunk, and she knew her fate had come. She was such a little tree that it took but two blows to fell her. When the Night Wind came again, he found the Little Tree moaning with the pain of her wounds. He caressed her tenderly and begged her to say her pain was better.
"Oh, Night Wind, the pain is truly better since you have come," whispered the Little Tree bravely, and died in his arms.