Each summer the tree adds a layer of new wood in a circle round the tree trunk; a broad circle when there has been sunshine and the tree has thriven well, and a narrow circle when the season has been wet and sunless. This new layer of wood is always found just under the bark or coarse, outer skin of the tree. The bark protects the soft young wood, and if it is eaten by cattle, or cut off by mischievous boys, then the layer of young wood is exposed, and the tree will die. When winter approaches and the trees get ready for their long sleep, the cells in this layer of new wood slowly dry, and it becomes a ring of hard wood. If you look at a tree which has just been cut down, you will be able to tell how many years old the tree is by counting the circles of wood in the tree trunk. When a tree grows very slowly these rings are close and firm, and the wood of the tree is hard and valuable. Many, many years ago, when a rich Scotch landlord lay dying, he said to his only son, “Jock, when you have nothing else to do, be sticking in a tree; it will aye be growing when you are sleeping.” He was a clever, far-seeing old man, Jock’s father, for he knew that in course of time trees grow to be worth money, and that to plant a tree was a sure and easy way of adding a little more to the wealth he loved so dearly. But a tree has another and a greater value to us and to the world than the price which a wood merchant will give for it as timber. Think what a dear familiar friend the tree has been in the life of man! How different many of our best-loved tales would be without the trees that played so large a part in the lives of our favourite heroes. Where could Robin Hood and his merry men have lived and hunted but under the greenwood tree? Without the forest of Arden what refuge would have sheltered the mischief-loving Rosalind and her banished father? How often do we think of the stately Oak and Linden trees into which good old Baucis and Philemon were changed by the kindly gods. And do you remember what secrets the trees told us as we lay under their shady branches on the hot midsummer days, while the leaves danced and flickered against the blue, blue sky? Can you tell what was the charm that held us like a dream in the falling dusk as we watched their heavy masses grow dark and gloomy against the silvery twilight sky?