The Dragon Tree Read Online Free PDF Page A

mark for twenty-two feet was exactly in the middle of the trunk of the tree.
    Therefore half the tree belonged to No. 40 Walden Street, the other half to No. 38. It was too bad, but surely from now on the tree would be safe from the dreaded chain saw of Mortimer Moon.

14
MY HALF!
    “O H, IS THAT SO ?” said Mortimer Moon, studying the letter from the Registry of Deeds. “How very interesting.” He looked at Uncle Freddy. He looked at the tree. And then he said, “I see. According to this legal document, half of this tree belongs to you and half to me.”
    “Exactly,” said Uncle Fred.
    “Very good. We are agreed. Your half is your half, and”—Mr. Moon handed back the letter with a sly grin—“my half is my half, correct?”
    Uncle Fred paused before saying, “Of course.”
    “Why don’t we shake on that?” Beaming, Mr.Moon held out his hand.
    Something about the bargain made Uncle Fred uneasy, but once again he shook Mr. Moon’s hand.
    Therefore no one was watching from the house at No. 40 Walden Street when the scream of the chain saw began again. Eddy catapulted out of his chair at the supper table and burst out the door, but he was too late. As he rounded the corner of the house he saw Mr. Moon back away from the tree with his saw in hand. An enormous wedge had been cut from the smooth gray trunk, a gash that reached to the center of the tree.
    Eddy stopped, appalled. Mr. Moon grinned at him and said, “My half just needed a little pruning.”
    “But it will die!” cried Eddy. “The tree will die!”
    “Oh, it was going to die anyway,” said Mr. Moon. “It’s crawling with insects.” He kicked at the chunk of wood on the ground. “You take care of your half and I’ll take care of mine.” Whistling, he walked away, swinging the chain saw.
    Enraged, Eddy stalked up the steps of the front porch, where Georgie stood leaning against therailing, her face pale with dismay. Marching into the house, he shouted, “Come look!”
    “Horrible,” groaned Uncle Fred.
    “How could he?” whispered Aunt Alex.
    “He’s a murderer, that’s how,” growled Eddy.
    The tree itself seemed unruffled. The gash in its living trunk looked like a death blow, but the canopy was as green as ever, dappled with sun and shadow, its thousands of leaves floating free.
    Uncle Fred, Aunt Alex, and Eddy turned away mournfully, but Georgie lingered like a visitor at the bedside of a dying friend. But then she gave a startled cry, and the others looked back, because something was happening.
    The pale wood of the gash was darkening, the bark around it thickening and filling in the gaping hole. Then something popped out, a green sprout. As they watched, it surged up and swelled into a sturdy branch. But instead of growing toward the house of Mr. and Mrs. Moon, it squirmed around and shot a leafy spray straight at the front porch of No. 40 Walden Street.
    Mr. Moon didn’t see it. He was indoors in hiswife’s crowded Nature Center, watching her unwrap something from a fluffy bundle of tissue paper, a toy bird covered with sparkles.
    “Just listen to this, Mortimer.” Mrs. Moon giggled, twisting a key in the bird’s back. At once it began to shake and whir and twitter a tinkly tune.
    “Good heavens, Margery.” Mr. Moon gazed at the bird in wonder. “It’s a songbird for your Nature Center.”
    “Isn’t it dear?” said Margery, but then she frowned. “Please shut the window, Mortimer. I can’t hear with all that noise outside.”
    The sash came down with a bang, but the melody filtered through the glass. It was the voice of the small bird from foreign parts—the nightingale—singing in the top of the tree.

15
THE SAINTS OF OLD
    T HE NEW SPRAY of leaves nearly brushed the corner post of the front porch.
    Reaching up, Uncle Fred touched a leaf and said, “So it’s all right, Georgie. You don’t need to worry about your precious tree. There is no way that man can hurt it now.”
    Georgie beamed, but Aunt Alex said