cared for it in storms, furnished a cool shade for it in summer, were now in the way. Your limbs had tried to climb into the upper window of one of your children’s stores. That was enough, a new element had come to town on a railroad, to make Silverton like other towns, so the giant tree heard its fate from a jury that were strangers. The tree might have called for help, but its real friends, the old pioneers, were away. Some of them each passing year had been driven by it, across the old covered bridge never to return, and others were out of town on their adjoining farms. The giant oak, the tree that had the beautiful stories to tell, was voted “guilty” and was slain. That evening as its huge branches were divided among the town’s people, a small party of big men gathered at the stump of the tree. They were mad men and sad men as they realized that Silverton had to change, that a newer element with higher collars and smaller hats was in command. Many of their best and bravest citizens had already gone beyond the call of human voice, others would soon follow, and the tree, being one of them, had, also, made obeisance to the demand of society,
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PREFACE
17
