“Oh, you stupid fellow!” they would sometimes say, driving him out of the house with blows of broom or stick. “Oh, you great good-for-nothing, sitting here and eating our bread without doing aught to pay for it! Were ever parents troubled with so worthless a son? Other folk have bright boys and girls who will grow up to do some good in the world and be a credit to their parents. But you will always be a big, overgrown baby for us to take care of. Bah! Karl, we are tired of seeing you about!” With the tears streaming down his face poor Karl would shuffle out of the mean little cottage where they lived, the most unhappy boy in the whole wide world. There was one place whither Karl loved to go at such times, the only place where he was sure of finding rest and quiet and a friend. In a corner of the village was a little wood,--a rare sight in the Flat Land, where trees grew but sparsely. Few other persons came here, for the folk of the country cared little about rest or quiet, and nothing at all for the beauty of nature. They were quite satisfied with the look of their clean-shaven country, their smooth lawns and geometrical canals, their straight, shadeless roads, curbed neatly on either hand. It had never occurred to them to plant trees for beauty and shade, and for the other good things which trees offer. The little wood had grown quite by accident, and no one cared anything about it. But Karl loved the lonely, pretty place, and especially the great oak which grew in the midst thereof, the only oak in the whole Flat Land. It was so big, so sturdy, and yet withal so gentle when it stretched its great limbs protectingly over his wretchedness, giving the comfort of its shade and coolness to refresh him in his troubles. It was Karl’s only friend. A hot, sultry day came upon the Flat Land, and it seemed to be Karl’s evil day. In the morning a rout of children and dogs chased him through the village, pelting him with bad eggs and fruit, and with stones, too. They chased him until the school bell rang, when he escaped; for Karl did not go to school,--he was too simple. When he returned home, breathless, bruised, and weary, scarcely able to speak from fright and exhaustion, his father beat him because he could not tell where he had been all the morning. Poor Karl! There was no part of the whole town where he had not been in that dreadful chase. But he had not the words to explain this to his parents; so his cruel father punished him, and his mother drove him out without his dinner. More wretched than ever before, Karl fled to his refuge, the little wood, and flung himself on the greensward beneath the giant oak tree. He buried his face in the cool, soft moss, and cried as though his heart would break. “Poor fool! Poor fool!” he wailed. “Poor Karl, good for nothing!”