In a little village of the far South country he planted the last acorn, and sank upon the spot, unable to go any farther. The towns-folk gathered around him, saying, “Who is this? What holy man is this?” For his face was indeed that of a blessed saint. Then once more, for the last time, he told his story. He told it in a faint and faltering voice, and it was so sad, so sweet, that every one wept to hear it, and marveled greatly, saying,-- “Surely, he is indeed a holy man! See, the green wonder-sack is empty. This is the end of his pilgrimage. Our village is blest and shall be famous as the end of his pilgrimage. We will set up a shrine in his honor where the last acorn is planted. But first we must take him home.” “Yes, take me home!” said Karl, who understood only this word of all the praise they gave him. They laid him on the green mantle and started gently to carry him where he would be. He could not tell them the name of the place, but they traced the way by the acorns which he had planted and which had sprung up in his honor. As they went from village to village, folk came out who remembered the holy pilgrim who had passed erewhile, telling his quaint story; and they claimed a share in bearing the blessed burden. So that poor Karl had a continually growing company of people ministering to his wants and doing him the kindnesses of love. But he did not know why, thinking only that the world was grown wondrously kind since the days of his boyhood. As they passed on, the wonder grew at the length of his pilgrimage and the extent of Karl’s work. For the journey was not a matter of days but of months, even at the steady pace they held. And as they measured back mile after mile, the planting of Karl became still more wonderful to see. From little sprouts the acorns had now grown tiny treelets. Further on the saplings were waist-high, shoulder high, above the heads of the tallest. In lands where he had passed years before grew rows of tall, beautiful oaks on either side of the road. But it was when the goodly company entered at last the Flat Land itself that they saw the trees become so sturdy and so broad that already it was a fair avenue down which Karl was borne. It was many, many years since he had passed that way. He himself was forgotten, but there remained the tradition of a simple lad who had once gone by, planting the blessed oaks which were now the pride of the land. And his own countrymen joined the company in greater numbers than any heretofore. For now the wisdom of the planting began to be seen. The trees were so tall and so broad-limbed that already they cast a grateful shade, under which the pilgrims rested at every stage. Men, women, and children, even the animals whom they passed, taking shelter from the summer heat under these same trees, blessed the wisdom which had done this thing. But Karl knew nothing of all this. He only knew that he was going home; and he slept, being very weary.