The Last Christmas Tree

Promptly at 7 o'clock the next morning, Fiddler Willie and his helpers arrived in a big semi-trailer truck.  All the trees watched as Willie opened the large doors at the rear of the vehicle.  Inside, golden pots glistened in the morning snow.

"You'll be going on a long trip, my friends, but I have provided great amounts of plant food in the pots.  You shall all make the journey quite well.  I've never lost a Christmas Tree yet," Willie said as his helpers brought shovels from the truck.

"That's a good one there," one of the helpers said as he pointed to Butch.  "Fine, strong limbs and good color," said another helper as he touched the branches.

Butch had a smirk on his face.  "Told you so," Butch said loudly to the other trees.  "Told you all that I"d be picked first."

Willie came forward to give a closer look at Butch.  "Looks to be strong," he said as if talking to himself.  "But you know fellows, sometimes it's these strong ones like this that have the most trouble making the change from forest to planting pot.  Just cause he looks good, don't mean he is good."

Obviously, Butch was embarrassed by Willie's words.  No one had ever spoken such things about the forest bully. "Please let me go, please take me," Butch cried as Willie tugged at his branches.  "I'll be a good tree, honest."

Willie, because he was human, could not hear the pleas of Butch, which made the bully all the more fearful.

Finally, after what must have seemed an eternity to Butch, Willie spoke the magic words. "Okay, take him."

As the helpers moved down the line taking the trees one at a time, they bypassed Billy. "Too small," said one. "Limbs ain't straight enough," said another.