little tree and sing it their prettiest songs. No danger ever menaced it,
no harm threatened; for the angel never slept,--through the day and
through the night the angel watched the little tree and protected it from
all evil. Oftentimes the trees talked with the angel; but of course they
understood little of what he said, for he spoke always of the Child who
was to become the Master; and always when thus he talked, he caressed the
little tree, and stroked its branches and leaves, and moistened them with
his tears. It all was so very strange that none in the forest could
understand.

So the years passed, the angel watching his blooming charge. Sometimes the
beasts strayed toward the little tree and threatened to devour its tender
foliage; sometimes the woodman came with his axe, intent upon hewing down
the straight and comely thing; sometimes the hot, consuming breath of
drought swept from the south, and sought to blight the forest and all its
verdure: the angel kept them from the little tree. Serene and beautiful it
grew, until now it was no longer a little tree, but the pride and glory of
the forest.

One day the tree heard some one coming through the forest. Hitherto the
angel had hastened to its side when men approached; but now the angel
strode away and stood under the cedars yonder.

"Dear angel," cried the tree, "can you not hear the footsteps of some one
approaching? Why do you leave me?"

"Have no fear," said the angel; "for He who comes is the Master."

The Master came to the tree and beheld it. He placed His hands upon its
smooth trunk and branches, and the tree was thrilled with a strange and