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It brought delicious fruit, and never was the fire lighted more frequently on the hearth in the plots of ground assigned to the pupils baking and boiling were pleasant during the cool afternoons. No month seemed to us so cheery as October. During its course the apples and pears were gathered, and an old privilege allowed the pupils "to glean" that is, to claim the fruit left on the trees.
"De brack man's gittin' awful rich The people seems ter fear, Alt'ough he 'pears to git in debt A little ebbery year. Ob co'se he gits de biggest kind Ob wages ebbery day, But when he comes to settle up Dey dwindles all away. "Den jes fork up de little tax Dat's laid upon de poll. It's jes de tax de state exac's Fer habben ob a soul!"
"'Well, Jerry, if you don't mind, says the policeman, 'I'd like to disperse the infuriated mob singlehanded. I haven't defeated a lynching mob since last Tuesday; and that was a small one of only 300, that wanted to string up a Dago boy for selling wormy pears. It would boost me some down at the station. "'All right, Mike, says the motorman, 'anything to oblige. I'll turn pale and tremble.
Do thus, my little son, and persevere; when I come home I will bring thee a fine "fairing." I know of a pretty garden where merry children run about that wear little golden coats, and gather nice apples and pears, and cherries, and plums under the trees, and sing and dance, and ride on pretty horses with gold bridles and silver saddles.
Tracy's, went on: "'Pears to me a great 'vantage, Missa Qui, dat some folks is 'Piscopalians, and some Presbyterians." Felix looked as if he failed to apprehend the meaning of his friend. "'Cause," said Primus, "dat make two grand dinner, and you and me is dere to eat 'em." Felix had now fairly caught the other's meaning, and the two exploded in bursts of laughter.
Pink almonds blossomed first; the leaf and the flower of apricots followed; apples, peaches, and pears came almost at the same time; and we lived in a pink world. The fig-tree softened its hard heart last of all, and its ashy-grey arms burst into tender green leaf and infant figs; at the same time the pomegranates shot into warm red leaflets.
"You kin 'pend on good arnest wishes for a heap o' comfort, Miss Em'ly, but 'stead o' leavin' the world you jes' gits into it; dunno nothin' 'bout livin' till ye hev to min' eberything yourself. But I 'spect you'll walk along purty happy-like, fur Mas'r Louis he's done got hevin right in his soul, an' you, Miss Em'ly, 'pears like you's good enough fur him."
My father was born in 1793, and my mother in 1802, in Putnam County, State of New York. Their names were John and Melinda Nowlin. Mother's maiden name was Light. My father owned a small farm of twenty-five acres, in the town of Kent, Putnam County, New York, about sixty miles from New York City. We had plenty of fruit, apples, pears, quinces and so forth, also a never failing spring.
I used to wonder that such a boy was allowed to go loose in such a garden as that, among those flowers and strawberry beds, and, above all, apples, and pears, and plums, for in the autumn time the trees trained up against the high red-brick wall were covered with purple and yellow plums, and the rosy apples peeped from among the green leaves, and the pears would hang down till it seemed as if the branches must break.
There are still a few apples on the topmost branches of the trees in the orchard. They are there because David, the labourer, who used to come and lend us a hand in his odd hours chiefly when the moon was up is no longer available. You may remember how David opened his heart to me about enlisting when he stood on the ladder picking the pears last year.
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