tiful picture set in a framework of soft green hills, that I was never tired of 

 looking at. 



Sometimes when driving about I would meet a neighbor who would 

 ask how my trees were getting on or compliment me on the fine crop of 

 volunteer barley I was likely to get. Another would ask if I intended to 

 plow this year. One said, "I suppose you know the barley would grow 

 without the trees," and I thought I detected a latent sarcasm in his tone 

 suggesting the query as to the converse of that proposition. Then I would 

 look at my tall overseer who seemed in no hurry to commence plowing and 

 stifle my momentary uneasiness. One day I overheard a man saying "look 

 at that now, where are the trees, pretty expensive crop of barley, I think" — 

 "well," was the reply — "what can you expect of a woman and a city woman 

 at that?" 



That night when all were sleeping, I walked in the bright moonlight along 

 the road by the orchard or barley field — for by that time the question of 

 supremacy was settled. It was no longer a question of faith in my tall 

 overseer, but a lack of faith in myself. I must get a new man, but whom. 

 Just then, an owl, far away, answering my anxious thought said, Oh — who — 

 who. Another owl close by answered — Oh, you — you. I went into 

 the house, and in the morning met my overseer as he was dragging his 

 lazy length towards the breakfast table, and gently suggested that he 

 should take a vacation. "Barkis was willing." While hunting for a man 

 to fill his place I demonstrated the fact that I could do perfectly well with- 

 out one. 



I found there were many things I could do to further the work. I could 

 not plow, but I could take the plow points for sharpening, and in that way 

 save the time of a man and two horses. I became so accustomed to the 

 jingHng of plow points in my phaeton that I felt quite lost if I did not hear 

 them. Once when there was a rush of work pruning, planting, etc., I was 

 advised to rofl a field of barley that was growing rank and tall. Just then a 

 horse became sick, and the man who was driving the roller had to go to the 

 hills to get another. I knew the horse he went for, and know it would 

 be the work of time to catch her. The roller was a borrowed one. I had 

 promised to return it that night; if the work was stopped I must break my 

 word or let the barley go unrolled. I looked at my clean white wrapper, 

 hesitated a moment and then mounted the roller. After I overcame my 

 reluctance to crush down the broad green blades, I found it quite an easy 

 tiling to do. I confess as I approached the county road that bordered one 

 side of the field I always scanned it closely. The roller went home that night 

 and the barley was rolled. 



Since then the little trees have become large and strong and for several 

 years have been giving me an average of six hundred tons of fruit yearly. 

 Some one here said women never measure by feet and yards, but by inches. 

 It may be quite as difficult to estimate tons of fruit, and the quantity will 

 be more easily comprehended if I say, let us suppose all the six hundred 

 tons of fruit were packed fresh in boxes, as we do pack, and sent in refrig- 

 erator cars over the thousands of miles of mountain, desert and sea to the 

 crties in the East and to London and Liverpool, they would require a train 

 of fifty cars to carry them all. Part of the fruit was dried, and that sent 

 fresh was sent at different times, but the six hundred tons would represent 

 fifty carloads of fresh fruit. I have had many things to contend with, many 

 mistakes to rectify and pay for, many amusing experiences which I may give 

 you some day if you wish, but will say, taking all things into considera- 

 tion, I think the woman orchardist has no more to contend with than thj? e 

 engaged in other pursuits, Even the pleasures of life are not unalloyed. 



I am asked if I do not find the life monotonous. No. Each day brings 

 some new interest. There is a great pepper tree near my house where two 

 little Jerseys, Ursula and Phebe, were feeding, and where they stood and 

 looked after me with great soft eyes as I bade them good-bye on leaving 

 for town. 



