Any orchards at my farm, Major ?" "Don't know, sir." "Pretty soon," continued Uncle John, "it's going to be dreadfully hot in New York, and we'll have to get away." "Seashore's the place," remarked the Major.

"Atlantic City, or Swampscott, or--" "Rubbish!" growled the other man, impatiently.

"The girls and I have just come from Europe.

We've had enough sea to last us all _this_ season, at least.

What we pine for is country life--pure milk, apple trees and new mown hay." "We, Uncle ?" said Patsy.
"Yes, my dear.