Time and the Tree 13 



the apple tree this summer and every leaf falls 

 to the ground and perishes. This ring of wood 

 thinly protected by a coating of bark will, in a 

 few years, be near the center of the tree. Hardly 

 a shred of the vine we plant will exist in ten years. 

 Posts and stakes rot away, are cast into the fire, 

 and turn to ashes before our eyes. We scatter 

 them over the vineyard which they once so stoutly 

 held up to the sun. The berry bushes we planted 

 vanished long ago. What is there here now that 

 was here a quarter of a century ago? We have 

 laid out new roads and alleys; we have torn down 

 and rebuilt houses and bams. The life of the 

 place is new. We have changed. The picture of 

 ourself on the wall is of another man who did not 

 think as we think now. His eyes looked out upon a 

 different world. Yes, Time and the Tree have been 

 busy. And these faces at the board, these bright 

 eyes, these new beings sitting in the old seats, 

 these children roaming, sporting under the shadows 

 are newcomers, brought by Time and the Tree. 

 And we turn to the ledger of the old days, the days 

 of small things; there are hundreds of tons and 

 thousands of bushels now. Then we thought a 

 hundred bushels a portentous crop, and to-day 

 not a tree on the fruit-farm of that kind ! 



Yet Time is never weary and the Tree is ever 

 growing. Not only is it ever green but ever fruit- 

 ful. It is a wonderful tree, very much like folks, 

 a bundle of associations. You call the apple 

 *' Seek-no-further,*' but I call it the fruit-farm. 



