corner of the yard. Between these there was quite a wide level
space, where mother fed the big chickens and kept the hens in
coops with little ones. She had to have them close enough that
the big hawks were afraid to come to earth, or they would take
more chickens than they could pay for, by cleaning rabbits,
snakes, and mice from the fields. Then came a double row of
prize peach trees; rare fruit that mother canned to take to
county fairs. One bore big, white freestones, and around the
seed they were pink as a rose. One was a white cling, and one
was yellow. There was a yellow freestone as big as a young sun,
and as golden, and the queerest of all was a cling purple as a
beet.

Sometimes father read about the hairs of the head being numbered,
because we were so precious in the sight of the Almighty. Mother
was just as particular with her purple tree; every peach on it
was counted, and if we found one on the ground, we had to carry
it to her, because it MIGHT be sound enough to can or spice for a
fair, or she had promised the seed to some one halfway across the
state. At each end of the peach row was an enormous big pear
tree; not far from one the chicken house stood on the path to the
barn, and beside the other the smoke house with the dog kennel a
yard away. Father said there was a distinct relationship between
a smoke house and a dog kennel, and bulldogs were best. Just at
present we were out of bulldogs, but Jones, Jenkins and Co. could
make as much noise as any dog you ever heard. On the left grew
the plum trees all the way to the south fence, and I think there
was one of every kind in the fruit catalogues. Father spent
hours pruning, grafting, and fertilizing them. He said they
required twice as much work as peaches.