ssed and sought
something left behind. Then it perceived the scent of the woodbine,
and soon the still stronger scent of the violets and wild thyme; and
it fancied it could hear the cuckoo repeat its note.

At length amidst the clouds peeped forth the tops of the green trees
of the wood; they also grew higher and higher, as the oak had done;
the bushes and the flowers shot up high in the air; and some of these,
dragging their slender roots after them, flew up more rapidly. The
birch was the swiftest among the trees: like a white flash of
lightning it darted its slender stem upwards, its branches waving like
green wreaths and flags. The wood and all its leafy contents, even the
brown-feathered rushes, grew, and the birds followed them singing; and
in the fluttering blades of silken grass the grasshopper sat and
played with his wings against his long thin legs, and the wild bees
hummed, and all was song and gladness as up in heaven.

"But the blue-bell and the little wild tansy," said the oak tree; "I
should like them with me too."

"We are with you," they sang in their low, sweet tones.

"But the pretty water-lily of last year, and the wild apple tree that
stood down yonder, and looked so fresh, and all the forest flowers of
years past, had they lived and bloomed till now, they might have been
with me."

"We are with you--we are with you," sang their voices far above, as if
they had gone up before.

"Well, this is quite enchanting," cried the old tree. "I have them
all, small and great--not one is forgotten. How is all this happiness
possible and conceivable?"

"In the celestial paradise all this is possible and conceivable,"
voices chanted around.

And the tree, which continued to rise, observed that its roots were
loosening from their hold in the earth.

"This is well," said the tree. "Nothing now retains me. I am free to
mount to the highest heaven--to splendour and light; and all that are
dear to me are with me--small and great--all with me."

"All!"

This was the oak tree's dream; and whilst it dreamt a fearful storm
had burst over sea and land that holy Christmas eve. The ocean rolled
heavy billows on the beach--the tree rocked violently, and was torn up
by the roots at the moment it was dreaming that its roots were
loosening. It fell. Its three hundred and sixty-five years were now as
but the day of the ephemeron.

On Christmas morning, when the sun arose, the storm was passed. All
the church bell