This pear-tree
was a little thing then, and when I came out in the morning it was
in a bad plight, I can tell you. The wind had snapped off the top,
and it lay withering on the ground. Worse than this, one of the
cattle had stepped on it, bruising it severely, and half breaking
it off near the root. I don't know which of the young men you
have named this unruly beast typifies--both of 'em, I'm inclined
to think."
Here Ida shook her head in protest against Van Berg being classed
with Sibley, and at the same time could not forbear the glimmer of
a smile at the old man's homely imagery.
"Well, according to my creed," continued Mr. Eltinge, "'while there's
life there's hope,' so I lifted up the poor, prostrate little tree,
and tied it to a stout stake. Then I got grafting wax and covered
the bruises and broken places, and finally tied all up as carefully
as I used to my boys' fingers when the cut them, sixty odd years
ago. And now mark, my child; I had done all that I could do. I
couldn't make the wounds heal or even a new twig start; and yet
here is a stately young tree beginning to bear delicious fruit.
Nature took my sorry-looking little case in hand, and slowly at
first, but by and by with increased vigor and rapidity, she developed
what you see.
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