After dinner on the Sunday after the flood, Ella and Boy Cousin went sedately up the road for a little walk. They came to a tree of early apples, which proved to be as sour as apples could possibly be.
“That tree ought to be grafted,” said Boy Cousin.
“How do you graft?” Ella asked.
“You stick into the sour tree some twigs from a good tree and put wax around them to keep them dry,” replied Boy Cousin.
“Let’s stick one into this tree.”
“Why isn’t that work just as much as ploughing would be?” Boy Cousin queried.
“Trees grow Sunday just as much as on other days, and if we graft them so they can raise good apples instead of poor, we are not working; we are only helping them to do their own work well. We haven’t any wax, but why can’t we get some spruce gum? That would keep the water out.”
“There isn’t a good apple tree anywhere near.”
“Put in a raspberry twig then,” suggested Ella. “A raspberry as big as an apple would be good, I know.”
So they began, and before they were done, not only raspberry, but also maple, spruce, woodbine, wild cherry, and even hardhack had been grafted into that long-suffering tree.