"The road so bad?"
"So long, mother; think of it; half an hour through the park woods, until we carne out upon the great lawn dotted with the noblest trees you ever saw."
"Better than the trees in Boston common? I guess not," said Mrs. Copley.
"Those are good trees, mother, but nothing to these. These are just magnificent."
"I don't see why fine trees cannot grow as well on American ground as on English," said Mrs. Copley incredulously.
"Give them time enough," put in her husband.
"Time!"
"Yes. We are a new country, comparatively, my dear. These old oaks here have been growing for hundreds of years."
"And what should hinder them from growing hundreds of years over there? I suppose the ground is as old as England; if Columbus didn't discover it all at once."
"The ground," said Mr. Copley, eyeing the floor between his boots,—"yes, the ground; but it takes more than ground to make large trees. It takes good ground, and favouring climate, and culture; or at least to be let alone. Now we don't let things alone in America."