The little pine closed its ears and tried desperately to overcome a desire to whisper back: Why are they cutting you, big pine? Where are you going? Where are they taking you? The little pine was full of questions. It could only think the questions, yet the big pine heard the little pine’s thoughts as if spoken.

“I’m going to the big city,” the big pine whispered. “I have a purpose there — as I’ve had a purpose here. Until now — ”

“ — but you still have a purpose here,” said the little pine. “You still have thousands upon thousands of trees to watch over. And, you still have me.”

The big pine took a long time to consider its answer. Maybe it was tired. Maybe it was not used to being interrupted. Maybe it was suffering from shock. It wanted to answer the little pine, but it was running out of sap.

“Yes,” the big pine finally whispered back — grimacing slightly as the saw cut into a knot. “But I also have a purpose there — in the big city — where thousands upon thousands will come to look at me to find a once-in-a-lifetime happiness. They won’t know I’m dying. The lights in my branches will suggest that life is everlasting — and they will believe.”

“But you will be dying,” murmured the little pine.

“Yes.”

“But you will be dying,” the little pine murmured again — and then was silent.

At long last, the men seemed to be finished with their saws and their noise; and yet, the tall pine still stood.

Are you dead? the little pine thought, but could not bring itself even to whisper.

No, the tall pine thought back. I’m just retiring.

After what seemed an eternity to the little pine, the tall pine creaked; bowed briefly to the wind; then came crashing to the ground. As it hit, even the earth seemed to bounce — and the little pine with it.

It is done, the little pine thought.

No, it is not! the tall pine thought back, now reaching out a branch to embrace and render the little pine invisible to the men. I still have you. And no man, no saw, no implement or circumstance shall separate us. Not now. Not forevermore. And with that, the tall pine flexed its branch and pulled the little pine out of the ground, roots and all.

You may well wonder how a tree — any tree — could flex a branch and pull another out of the ground, roots and all. I will tell you only that the tall pine, though now baseless, had an omnipotent will, and that the little pine had very shallow roots. Besides which, we’re talking Christmas — at which time, things of the most extraordinary kind may happen.

The trip from the tree farm in Connecticut to Rockefeller Center in Manhattan was not a long one — not, at least, by human standards. Humans require frequent hydration. Luckily, for humans, water is relatively easy to come by. Trees, too, require hydration. Water is the bread and breath of life as we know it. The little pine, as much out of thirst as out of its fear of abandonment, allowed itself a whimper.