Because it was secluded and out of the city, she was less nervous when
Joe swung the team into the grove of apple trees. There were eight of
them that had had no attention, and as a consequence they bore knotty
little apples that clung tightly to the branches with a few ripened ones
on the ground. But the place was clean, and the spring that rose in the
center of the trees and trickled itself into a reed-bordered rill, was
cold.
Joe got down from the wagon seat and turned to help Emma. Leaping
gracefully from the rear, Barbara turned to catch the younger children
in her arms. Carlyle looked with intense interest at a red apple that
had fallen from one of the trees and lay gleaming in the grass. Little
Emma smoothed her dress and Joe looked soberly about. Alfred turned a
disappointed glance on his parents.
"Is this Oregon?" he wanted to know.