At last they came to the village where Karl was born; but he did not know it for such, he was so simple. Nor did the people who flocked to praise him remember Karl, he was so changed. They only knew him for the unnamed benefactor and friend who had made their town the fairest and most famous in the whole land. Among them were the very children, now grown old like him, who had teased and tormented him that woeful day. But now they crowded around the green litter as it was borne along, seeking to kiss the hand of the wise man who had given them shade and shelter on their weary way to and from the market. The company of pilgrims bore Karl past and under the trees which had sprung up to mark his passing from the town. They came to the last tree, the first which Karl had planted in the heart of the village on that first day, and here they paused, troubled. For they said,-- “The avenue ends here. Whither shall we now carry the holy man, and what would he have us do? For he has spoken no word since we began the journey.” But under this last tree Karl opened his eyes, and raising himself on his litter stretched out his arms to the East. Gazing whither he pointed, the company saw a little wood, and rising out of it a single giant oak, greater than all the others which Karl had planted,--greater than any which those men had seen. “There, there!” cried Karl, with joy in his voice. “Take me there! Home, home!” Wondering, they bore him to the great oak and laid him on the greensward beneath the tree. Then a marvelous thing happened. In the sight of all the people a little door opened in the side of the oak, and out stepped a maiden dressed all in brown, with a girdle of green and with a crown of oak leaves on her head. She bore a branch of the tree in her hand, which she waved gently as she stepped towards Karl.