Waterbury evening Democrat. [volume] (Waterbury, Conn.) 1887-1895, 1890-05-31
THE OLD ORCHARD.
drandfather's Story Of the Worth
less Fruit Trees.

Never shall forget how Grandfather
Carver looked the afternoon went TO
obtain his permission to cut down the
old orchard on the hillside. The trees
were. perhaps. half q century old, utter
~ worthless, and James and I wore
tired Of caring for them; but we could
never muster courage necessary to
plead their downfall with grandfather,
who was 30 particular about having them
veil looked after.
We often wondered at his strange So
Noitude for their worthless fruit, and
whom no insisted upon eating 1t him
self, he became = childish object Of our
pity.
That day we were discussing their
worthlessness. and expressed deter
mination to chop the last tree Of them
down, whether grandfather was will
ing or not James protested and argued
that perhaps some family secret might
be connected with them, and that we had
better obtain his permission.
SWELL, we can ask him. but am sure
Sof q REFUSAL" answered, and started
for his seat under the naples, where he
was accustomed to spend his afternoons.
Ny heart almost failed me, but was in
An i'll mood. and did not give myself time
to falter, but stated my GRAND with as
dttle ceremony as possible.
"William," said he, gravely, laying
aside his newspaper and lifting his
speotacles to his forehead, ''those trees
have history, and must stand till am
lASd in my grave. They are Of my own
grating and must die with me-" As he
spoke looked at the white head and
bent form. and thought heard in his
deep. measured tones the prophecy Of
death. Slowly, however, he con-
tinued:-
''You have not many more years to
wait till you have my permission to lay
them low. The blight Is whitening their
useless branches even as death creeps
over my lettering frame. My boys, you
are the last of my raoe. Your parents
arc sleeping in yonder churchyard, and
to you must tell the story Of my apple
treeA"
James and forgot our desire to de-
stroy the orchard, and seated ourselves
to hear from grandfather's own lips the
secret which We had long suspected was
looked up in the aged trunks. He hest
tated . moment. as II to call in the aid
Of departed spirits, then slowly pro-
ceeded.
my father came here with . com.
pany Of immigrants from New England,
whom the Musldnggum Valley WAS quite
. wilderness, and settled In yonder cove.
Another Of the company, Stewart Ander-
son by name, entered this tract Of land
and built his cabin q few rods from
whore We are now sitting. That rank
grass near the fence marks the exact
spot where It stood.
'NeaGhbor Anderson was . kind old
man, greatly beloved by all who knew
fathers. He often creased over to spend
? few hours in conversation with him.
It was upon this feeble old man that
your gr%ndfsther and his brother Jacob
attempted to play . moan trick.
my father was one Of the first Of the
company to plant an orchard, and in 1t
grew many grades and kinds Of fruit
Some Of 1t was early, some late, some
mellow and sweet, and some sour and
worthless. The early settlers used to
come to him tor gratis whom they were
planting trees.
:pne frosty morning in March. old
neiRhbor Anderson came over to get
gratis for his trees, and while he
warmed at the FIRE, father sent Jacob
and to get grating sprouts from the
best trees in our orchard. As we went
proposed to fool the old man by giving
him some bastard sprouts from . worth
less tree that grew over in the pasture.
1.-THE old man will think his trees
have been bewitched whom he comes to
gather his apples added Jacob. pleased
With the idea. :We'll put an evil spirit
IN every sprout.'
ut yeas easier done than either Of ~
imagined. We put the ghost Of False
hood In every graft, and all my life has
SPECTACT,ES