"I'll wait, and remind you of your promise, too. I don't know nearly as
much about the country as a butterfly or a bird, but should be quite as
unhappy as they were I condemned to city life. So you must not laugh at
me if I ask no end of questions, and try to put my finger into some of
your horticultural pies."

His pleased look contained all the assurance she needed, and he resumed,
speaking generally: "The true places for raising peaches--indeed, all the
stone-fruits--successfully in this region are the plateaus and slopes of
the mountains beyond us. At their height the mercury never falls as low
as it does with us, and when we have not a peach or cherry I have found
such trees as existed high up among the hills well laden."

"Look here, uncle Webb," cried Alf, "you've forgotten your geography. The
higher you go up the colder it gets."

The young man patiently explained to the boy that the height of the
Highlands is not sufficient to cause any material change in climate,
while on still nights the coldest air sinks to the lowest levels, and
therefore the trees in the valleys and at the base of the mountains
suffer the most. "But what you say," he concluded, "is true as a rule.
The mercury does range lower on the hills; and if they were a thousand or
fifteen hundred feet higher peaches could not be grown at all."

Amy mentally soliloquized: "I am learning not only about the mercury, but
also--what Alf has no doubt already found out--that Webb is the one to go
to if one wishes anything explained. What's more, he wouldn't, in giving
the information, overwhelm one with a sense of deplorable ignorance."

In accordance with his practical bent, Webb continued: "I believe that a