he
had understood that now it must be left behind, it would have been
almost impossible to have persuaded her. Her father comforted her by
telling her he could get quantities of the apples not very far from
home, and she could plant more seeds as soon as she liked, or, far
better than that, he would graft a tree.

In September, news came that a ship was going to the east coast of
England; and they were all heartily glad, in spite of the long,
dangerous voyage; and leaving the York friends, who had been so kind,
and whom they would probably never see any more, Polly gave the little
tree to a Masterson child, her great friend, who promised to wrap it
in straw for winter, and to be very kind to it and fond of it. And I
think she must have been faithful to her charge. Mistress Brenton laid
some of the leaves in the little book she had had in her pocket that
night, almost a year ago, when they left home. So they went to Boston,
and sailed for the old country.

I know nothing more of them; but we will hope their voyage was a short
and easy one, and that they reached home on a pleasant, sunny day, and
grandmother was there, and Dorothy, and all the people, and Polly had
stories to tell as wonderful as Dorothy's, and all true, and that they
were all happy forever after.

A while ago I stood on the hill with an old farmer, eating one of a
pocketful of apples he had given me, and said how very nice it was,
and that I had never seen any like it.

"There are none of my apples sell half so well," said he. "I've forty
young trees that have been bearing a few years; and over to the right
you see some old ones. Mine were grafted from those and my father
took his grafts from an old tree I'd like to show you;" and as we
walked towards it, he said, "It looks, and I guess it is, as old as
any around here. My father always said it was brought from England in
a flower-pot by some of the first settlers. Perhaps you have heard the
story. It's very shaky. The high winds last fall were pretty hard on
it. It will never bear again, I am afraid. I set a good deal by the
old thing. The very first thing I can remember is my father's lifting
me up to one of the lower limbs, and I was frightened and cried. I
believe I think more of that tree than of anything on my farm. My wife
always laughs at me about it. Well, it has lasted my time. I'm old and
shaky, too; and I suppose my sons won't miss this much, and will like
the young orchard best."

"An