AN OLD ROAD. 63 



and more inviting than ever to lazy pedes- 

 trians like myself. On this cast-off section 

 is a cosy, grassy nook, shaded by a cluster 

 of red cedars. This was one of our favorite 

 way-stations on summer noons. It gives 

 me a comfortable, restful feeling to look 

 into it even now, as if my weary limbs had 

 reminiscences of their own connected with 

 the place. 



Right at this point stands an ancient rus- 

 set-apple tree, which seems no older and 

 brings forth no smaller apples now than it 

 did when I first knew it. How natural it 

 looks in every knot and branch ! Strange, 

 too, that it should be so, since I do not re- 

 call its ever contributing the first mouthful 

 to my pleasures as a schoolboy gastronomer. 

 In those times I judged a tree solely by the 

 New Testament standard, very literally in- 

 terpreted, " By their fruits ye shall know 

 them." Now I have other tests, and can 

 value an old acquaintance of this kind for its 

 picturesqueness, though its apples be bitter 

 as wormwood. 



I am making too much of the food ques- 

 tion, and will therefore say nothing of straw- 

 berries, raspberries, thimbleberries, cranber- 



