lmost
treeless now, and Palestine, once so luxuriant, is bare and lonely.
Great cities flourished upon the banks of the Tigris and Euphrates where
were the hanging gardens of Babylon and the great hunting parks of
Nineveh, yet now the river runs silently between muddy banks, infertile
and deserted, save for a passing nomad tribe. The woods of ancient
Greece are not less ruined than her temples; the forests of Dalmatia
whence came the timber that built the navies of the ancient world are
now barren plateaus, shelterless and waste; and throughout a large part
of southern Europe and northern Africa, man has transformed the smile of
nature into a mask of inflexible severity.

"But," said Wilbur, turning excitedly to his uncle, as soon as the
lecturer had closed, "isn't there anything that can be done to make
those places what they were before?"

"Not often, if it is allowed to go too far," said the geologist. "It
takes time, of course, for all the soil to be washed away. But wherever
the naked rock is exposed the case is hopeless. You can't grow anything,
even cactus, on a rock. Lichens, of course, may begin, but hundreds of
thousands of years are required to make soil anew."

"But if it's taken in time?"

"Then you can reforest by planting. But that's slow and costly. It
requires millions of dollars to replant a stretch of forest which would
have renewed itself just by a little careful lumbering, for Nature is
only too ready to do the work for nothing if given a fair chance."

By this time the gathering had broken up in large part and a number of
those who had come only to hear the lecture had gone. Some of the Forest
Service men, however, were passing through the corridors to the
dining-room. At the door Wilbur paused hesitatingly. He had not been
invited to stay, but at the same time he felt that he could hardly leave
without thanking his uncle, who at the time was strolling toward the
other portion of the house, deeply engrossed in conversation. In this
quandary the Chief Forester, all unknown to the lad, saw his
embarrassment, and with the quick intuition so characteristic of the
man, divined the cause.

"Come along, Loyle, come along in," he said, "you're one of us now."

Wilbur, with a grateful look, passed on into the reception-room. A
moment later he heard his name called, and, turning, came face to face
with a tall young fellow, bronzed and decisive looking.

"My name's Nally," he said, "and I hear you're