238 An American Fruit-Farm 



the world at large. It must accept its share 

 of service. It is to be expected that the mere 

 external clothing of the Fruit Valley will change. 

 On fruit-farms of forty years scarcely a vestige 

 remains of varieties first planted. The con- 

 spicuous survival is the Concord grape. If one 

 turns to a nursery catalogue of forty years ago, he 

 may read long lists of varieties now unknown, or 

 known by another name. The Fruit Valley is a 

 survival. So too is the fruit-farmer. Even the 

 fences of the grandfathers have disappeared. On 

 the site of the log-cabin stands the country man- 

 sion. The springs have dried up and the house is 

 supplied from public reservoirs, or from deep wells 

 whose waters are lifted by wind-mills or engines. 

 The age of ornamentation has begun and the next 

 generation will beautify its estate yet more. Here 

 and there is a plantation on which men, women, 

 and children are taking time to live. Necessity 

 breeds public and private health. But the next 

 generation inherits our nature and we shall be 

 present despite new kinds of peaches and cherries. 

 Contentment is a rare bird in the land and it lays 

 few eggs and few of its progeny stirvive. There is a 

 philosophy in discontent, for that way progress lies. 

 Quiescent satisfaction means petrifaction. Wis- 

 dom does not die with the fathers nor will it be born 

 exclusively with the next generation. The Fruit 

 Valley is a stage and all its men and women are 

 merely players. Our grandfathers could not know 

 the ecstasy of an automobile, — its skidding, blow- 



