In casting about for a reliable nurseryman to whom to trust the very important business of supplying me with young trees, I could not long keep my attention diverted from Rochester, New York. Perhaps the reason was that as a child I had frequently ridden over the plank road from Henrietta to Rochester, and my memory recalled distinctly but three objects on that road,--the house of Frederick Douglass, Mount Hope Cemetery, and a nursery of young trees. Everything else was obscure. I fancy that in fifty years the Douglass house has disappeared, but Mount Hope Cemetery and the tree nursery seem to mock at time. The soil and climate near Rochester are especially favorable to the growing of young trees, and my order went to one of the many reliable firms engaged in this business. The order was for thirty-four hundred trees,--twenty-seven hundred for the forty-acre orchard and seven hundred for the ten acres farthest to the south on the home lot. Polly had consented to this invasion of her domain, for reasons. She said:-- "It is a long way off, rather flat and uninteresting, and I do not see exactly how to treat it. Apple trees are pretty at most times, and picturesque when old. You can put them there, if you will seed the ground and treat it as part of the lawn. I hate your old straight rows, but I suppose you must have them." "Yes, I guess I shall have to have straight rows, but I will agree to the lawn plan after the third year. You must give me a chance to cultivate the land for three years."