him.

"That oak would have surely died but for the tempest which passed
over us," said the gardener, a few weeks later, as he was showing his
garden to a friend.

The gardener stood beneath the branches, and saw with pleasure new
leaves coming forth and the texture of the old ones already finer and
softer.

"It only needed a firmer hold on the earth. The poor thing could not
draw moisture enough from the ground before the storm shook its roots
and embedded them deeper. If I had known the philosophy of storms
before, I need not have lost the other oak."

Here the old gardener sat beneath the branches of the oak, and they
seemed to rise and fall as if bestowing blessings on his head. That spot
became his favorite resting-place amid his labors for many years. The
oak lived to a good old age, and was the gardener's pride. Maidens
gathered its leaves and wove garlands for their lovers. Children sported
under its boughs. It was blessed and happy in making others so. It
had learned the lesson of the storm, and was often heard to say to the
young oaks growing up about it, "Sunshine and balmy breezes have their
part in our growth, but they are not all that is needful for our true
development."




IX.