48 Old Days on the Farm 



appearance and general excellency, have never 

 been surpassed in any land under the sun. 



"sunkist" apples 



I recall that all apples were ^'sunkist" when 

 I was a boy — ^harvest apples, fall apples and win- 

 ter apples. There were astrachans, sweet boughs, 

 seek-no-f urthers and pippins galore in the orchard 

 that I knew. But I have in mind one tree, in par- 

 ticular, that I've always associated with that popu- 

 lar old song * ' 'Neath the Shade of the Old Apple- 

 tree." I presume, because I practically grew up 

 under it, that it was the first tree I ever climbed 

 and the favourite in our orchard. It had broad, 

 spreading branches and bore the biggest, mellow- 

 est, yellowest, sweetest, juiciest and finest-flavoured 

 apples that a small boy ever buried his young 

 face in. 



Naturally, a fellow of my age would have had 

 many, good, bad and neutral tastes in his mouth 

 during the journey along life's trail, but I want 

 to state that I have never gotten away from, nor 

 forgotten, that finest of all tastes that ever tickled 

 my palate — the taste of those big, juicy "Sweet 

 Bough" harvest apples. I am not alone in this. 

 Quite recently I met, from a far eastern city, a 

 gentleman who used to visit my home when a small 

 boy and whom I had not seen for years. Almost 

 his first words were : 



"Say, old chum, is that harvest apple-tree grow- 



