Then the mourner’s heart was strengthened, and the lesson he would have taught the child came from the child to him, and made his soul glad.

A few weeks passed, and the old man died.

The child wept; but, remembering the good friend’s lesson, he wiped away his tears, and wept no more; for the seed had already become a beautiful plant, and every day it went upward, and he knew that, like that, his sister and his good friend would go higher and higher towards God.

Days, weeks, months, years passed away.  The plant had grown till it was taller than he who had planted it.

Years fled.  The child was no more there, but a young man sat beneath the shade of a tree, and held a maiden’s hand in his own.  Her head reclined on his breast, and her eyes upturned met the glances of his towards her, and they blended in one.

“I remember,” said he, “that when I was young a good old man who is now in heaven, led me to this spot, and bade me put a little seed in the earth.  I did so.  I watched the ground that held it, and soon it sprang up, touched by no hand, drawn forth, as it would seem, from its dark prison by the attractive power of the bright heaven that shone above it.  See, now, what it has become!  It shades and shelters us.  God planted in my heart a little seed.  None but he could plant it, for from him only emanates true love.  It sprang up, drawn forth by the sunlight of thy soul, till now thou art shadowed and sheltered by it.”

There was silence, save the rustle of the leaves as the branches bowed assent to the young man’s words.

Time drove his chariot on; his sickle-wheels smote to earth many brave and strong, yet the tree stood.  The winds blew fiercely among its branches; the lightning danced and quivered above and around it; the thunder muttered forth its threatenings; the torrent washed about its roots; yet it stood, grew strong and stately, and many a heart loved it for its beauty and its shade.

The roll of the drum sounded, and beneath a tree gathered crowds of stalwart men.  There was the mechanic, with upturned sleeves and dusty apron; the farmer, fanning himself with a dingy straw hat; the professional man and trader, arguing the unrighteousness of “taxation without representation.”

Another roll of the drum, and every head was uncovered as a young man ascended a platform erected beneath the tree.  In a soft, low voice, he began.  As he proceeded, his voice grew louder, and his eloquence entranced his auditors.

“Years ago,” said he, “there were an old man and a young child.  And the child loved the man, and the man loved the child, and taught him a lesson.  He took him by the hand, and, leading him aside, gave him a seed and told him to plant it.  He did so.  It sprang up.  It became mighty.  Independent it stood, sheltering all who came unto it.  That old man went home; but here stands the child, and here the tree, great and mighty now, but the child has not forgotten the day when it was small and weak.  So shall the cause we have this day espoused go on; and though, to-day, we may be few and feeble, we shall increase and grow strong, till we become an independent nation, that shall shelter all who come unto it.”