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"It has changed some," he answered to this; "its bar-room loafers are a good deal more unendurable, and its fools, always large, have increased in size." A good-natured laugh welcomed this reply. "There, uncle Cal, it 'pears to me you've got it," said one. "'Pears to me we've all got it," was the response of that worthy.
The Professor was the first to make his appearance with a small yellow pear, which he held up. "What have you found now?" George inquired, as he came running forward with a branch in his hand. "Pears!" exclaimed Harry, as he took it from the Professor's hand. "Not exactly a pear; but a fine fruit which we can use to good advantage. It is the guava." "What a beautiful white flower!
Oranges, lemons, and shaddocks grow fairly well, and are fruiting all the year round. Apples do badly, being subject to blight, though the young trees grow rapidly, and, if freely pruned, will yield enormous crops. To obviate the blight we keep a constant succession of young trees to replace those that are killed. Pears are not subject to the blight, and do well.
This creed was never taught, for instance, by the venerable pastor, John Wilson, whose beard, white as a snow-drift, was seen over Governor Bellingham's shoulder; while its wearer suggested that pears and peaches might yet be naturalized in the New England climate, and that purple grapes might possibly be compelled to nourish, against the sunny garden-wall.
Bananas are cut in two, the skin removed; the fruit is held in the fingers, or preferably eaten with a fork. Juicy pears and peaches may be managed in the same way, at discretion, the rule being that the fingers should touch as little as possible fruits that are decidedly mushy. The finger-bowl stands ready to repair all damages of the nature suggested.
"You here at this hour, Saval! Has some accident happened to you?" "No, my girl," he replied; "but go and tell your mistress that I want to speak to her at once." "The fact is madame is preserving pears for the winter, and she is in the preserving room. She is not dressed, you understand." "Yes, but go and tell her that I wish to see her on a very important matter."
"No, Catherine, not now," he replied, "they might betray us." "Oh, but, Frederick, I must! They weigh me down far too much." "Do it, then, and be hanged!" Then the dried pears rolled down between the branches, and the rascals below said, "The leaves are falling." A short time afterwards, as the door was still heavy, Catherine said, "Ah, Frederick, I must pour out the vinegar."
The group searched his face with curiosity, with anxiety even, but found no light there, no expression that they could read. They fell away from him as from something uncanny, and went into privacy to discuss him. One said: "'Pears to be a fool." "'Pears?" said another. "Is, I reckon you better say." "Said he wished he owned half of the dog, the idiot," said a third.
Such were the thoughts she would no doubt have through life, as she walked in the garden of the Palais Castagna, that historical garden in which is still to be seen a row of pear-trees, in the place where Sixte-Quint, near death, gathered some fruit. He tasted it, and he said to Cardinal Castagna playing on their two names, his being Peretti "The pears are spoiled. The Romans have had enough.
'Pears like that old hog ain't satisfied shootin' me hisself." Stretching his arms with a yawn, Steve winked at Isom and moved to the door. The boy followed him outside. "We're goin' fer ole Brayton about the dark o' the next moon, boy," he said. "He's sort o' s'picious now, 'n' we'll give him a leetle time to git tame. I'll have a bran'-new Winchester fer ye, Isom.
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