There is no such thing known as a killing frost.
But it is irrigation on a virgin and fertile soil that is primarily
responsible. They run the water to the orchards in conduits, and then
dig little trenches, running parallel among the trees. Then they turn it
on, and the tree-roots are bathed, soaked. And out of the desert spring
such trees of laden fruit that each branch must be supported by wires!
So we ate such apples as I had never dreamed of, and waited. Joe got his
films together. The boys practiced shooting. I rested and sharpened
lead-pencils. Bob had found a way to fold his soft hat into what he
fondly called the "Jennings do," which means a plait in the crown to
shed the rain, and which turned an amiable _ensemble_ into something
savage and extremely flat on top. The Head played croquet.
And then into our complacency came, one night, a bit of tragedy.
A man staggered into the little hotel at the head of the lake, carrying
another man on his back. He had carried him for forty hours, lowering
him down, bit by bit, from that mountain highland where he had been
hurt--forty hours of superhuman effort and heart-breaking going, over
cliffs and through wilderness.
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