The Fruit-Farm and the Young Folks 219 



ing to leave something to their children that they 

 may escape discomforts and pain, the enforced 

 self-denials such as parents themselves have ex- 

 perienced. We would have our children journey 

 along the primrose rather than the thorny path of 

 life. In this yearning there is nothing new; it 

 is true of all peoples in all ages; it is the touch of 

 Natiu-e that makes us all akin. But the antiquity 

 of the touch does not diminish its himianity. It is 

 renewed in every parent and yet to him and her 

 seems as novel as a discovery. It may be ques- 

 tioned whether, as land and all activities connected 

 with it become more and more commercial, the 

 chance of its successive use by generations of the 

 same family does not diminish. The rural con- 

 stantly approaches the social and economic urban 

 state, though never seemingly actually reaching it. 

 In New York, Philadelphia, Los Angeles, At- 

 lanta, Boston, Chicago, St. Louis, Minneapolis, 

 in any of the thousands of our cities and towns, 

 the personnel of what is called ''the business sec- 

 tion" changes twice each generation. Sons and 

 grandsons do not succeed to the business of their 

 fathers, much less in it. The business of a great 

 city as well as of a little town is done ever by new 

 men. ''Old established houses*' are new. For 

 many years in the Valley the sign over a well- 

 known store read: "B. C. Town.'* A drummer 

 who sold the firm sugar was wont to tell his other 

 customers that he did business with the oldest 

 town in the world. The date on the door may be 



