at the foot of the beloved pine and said, in her heart,
"I will come back again when ten years are passed, and will here consider
whose teachings were right."

It was a cold November day. A rude north wind raved among the leafless oaks
that defied its power with their rugged, unclad arms. The heavy masses of
clouds were mirrored darkly in the spring, and the pine, grown to lofty
stature, rocked swiftly to and fro as the fierce wind struck it. Down the
hill, over the stones, and through the tempest, there came a slight and
bending form. It was the happy child who had planted the pine seed.

She threw herself on the dry leaves by the water's edge, and leaned wearily
against the strong young evergreen. How sadly her eyes roved among the
trees, and then tears commenced to fall quickly from them. She was very
pale and mournful, and drew her rich mantle closely around her to shield
her from the wind. It had been as her lover had said. She had gone out into
the world, had tasted what men call pleasure, had put aside the simple
lessons she had learned in her childhood, to follow _his_ bidding, to live
in the light of _his_ love. Ten years had dissolved the dream. The young
husband was in his grave; the child she had called after him was no more.
Weary and heart-broken, she had hurried back to the home she had left, and
the haunts she had cherished.

She embraced the young pine, tenderly, and exclaimed--

"Oh, that thy lot was mine! Thou wilt stand here, in a green youth, a
century after I am laid low. No fears perplex thee, no sorrows eat away thy
strength. Willingly would I become like thee."

At last she grew calm; and the old question which she had never found
answered to her satisfaction--"What is life?"--sprang up into her mind. All
the deeds of past days moved before her, and she felt that hers had not
been a life worthy of an immortal soul. She heard again the voices of the
trees, the wind, and the stream, and a measure of peace seemed granted to
her. "Endurance--Hope--Faith," she murmured. She rose to go.

"Farewell, beloved pine," she said. "God knows whether I shall see thee
again; but such is my desire. With his help, I will begin a new existence.
Farewell, monitors who have comforted me. I go to learn 'what is life.'"

In a distant city, there dwelt, to extreme old age, a pious woman, a Lydia
in her holiness, a Dorcas in her benevolence. Years seemed to have no power
over her cheerful spirit, though her bodily