"In the first place," rejoined Chester, with the confidence of a man who has a powerful argument to advance, "speaking of nuts,—let us look at the chestnut. You will everywhere find that the tallest trees produce the poorest nuts."
"I grant it."
"Then how does your theory hold?"
Mr. Rensford answered the young man's triumphant look with a mild expression of countenance, which showed a spirit equally happy in teaching or in being taught.
"I think," said he, "your tall chestnut-tree is found in forests?"
"Yes, sir; and the spreading chestnut, or the second growth, that springs up and comes to maturity in cleared fields, is found standing alone."
"It strikes me, then, that the last is cultivated. You may expect better nuts from it than from the savage tree. And there is good reason why it should not be of such majestic stature. Its body has room to expand. It is not crowded in the selfish society of the woods; and, to put forth its fruits in the sunlight, it is not obliged to struggle above the heads of emulous companions."
"But chestnuts are very unhealthy," said Mrs. Royden, to the relief of Chester, who was at a loss how to reply.
"They should not be unhealthy. If we had not abused our digestive organs, and destroyed our teeth by injurious habits, we would suffer no inconvenience from a few handfuls of chestnuts. As it is, masticate them well, and use them as food,—and not as luxuries, after the gastric juices are exhausted by a hearty dinner,—and I doubt if they would do much harm."