i8o Windfalls 



steps and sought my favorite tree in the 

 orchard, preferred not for its fruit, but its 

 general patriarchal appearance and glorious 

 show of strength, a seek-no-farther. Sug- 

 gestive name ! I sat here, where I could 

 look far off in every direction, and dreamed of 

 the windfalls of other days and gave no heed 

 to possible fruit hidden from the sharp eyes 

 of the orchard's miserly owner. I confined 

 my thoughts to apples, for that phrase, " the 

 windfalls of other days," is but a hollow 

 mockery to me when given any wider appli- 

 cation. 



Are our apples as good as those that 

 ripened and made glad the whiskey-warmed 

 hearts of our sedate Quaker grandfathers ? 

 I think I would recognize to-day the flavor 

 of a golden pippin in its prime, a belle fleur 

 that was perfect, or the incomparable rich- 

 ness of a winter pearmain or a genuine sheep- 

 nose. The gnarly, stunted, distorted, taste- 

 less fruit that I now gather from centenarian 

 trees has only the charm that imagination 

 calls up. There is excellent fruit to be 

 gathered in our young orchards, but has it 

 not lost the full flavor of old-time favorites ? 

 We have a variety of opinions on the subjeft. 



