Out in the kitchen we heard some one , presumably Uncle Alec , lighting the fire ; but the heart of house had not yet begun to beat for the day . We paused a moment in the hall to look at the big `` Grandfather '' clock . It was not going , but it seemed like an old , familiar acquaintance to us , with the gilt balls on its three peaks ; the little dial and pointer which would indicate the changes of the moon , and the very dent in its wooden door which father had made when he was a boy , by kicking it in a fit of naughtiness . Then we opened the front door and stepped out , rapture swelling in our bosoms . There was a rare breeze from the south blowing to meet us ; the shadows of the spruces were long and clear-cut ; the exquisite skies of early morning , blue and wind-winnowed , were over us ; away to the west , beyond the brook field , was a long valley and a hill purple with firs and laced with still leafless beeches and maples . Behind the house was a grove of fir and spruce , a dim , cool place where the winds were fond of purring and where there was always a resinous , woodsy odour . On the further side of it was a thick plantation of slender silver birches and whispering poplars ; and beyond it was Uncle Roger 's house . Right before us , girt about with its trim spruce hedge , was the famous King orchard , the history of which was woven into our earliest recollections . We knew all about it , from father 's descriptions , and in fancy we had roamed in it many a time and oft . It was now nearly sixty years since it had had its beginning , when Grandfather King brought his bride home . Before the wedding he had fenced off the big south meadow that sloped to the sun ; it was the finest , most fertile field on the farm , and the neighbours told young Abraham King that he would raise many a fine crop of wheat in that meadow . Abraham King smiled and , being a man of few words , said nothing ; but in his mind he had a vision of the years to be , and in that vision he saw , not rippling acres of harvest gold , but great , leafy avenues of wide-spreading trees laden with fruit to gladden the eyes of children and grandchildren yet unborn . It was a vision to develop slowly into fulfilment . Grandfather King was in no hurry . He did not set his whole orchard out at once , for he wished it to grow with his life and history , and be bound up with all of good and joy that should come to his household . So the morning after he had brought his young wife home they went together to the south meadow and planted their bridal trees . These trees were no longer living ; but they had been when father was a boy , and every spring bedecked themselves in blossom as delicately tinted as Elizabeth King 's face when she walked through the old south meadow in the morn of her life and love . When a son was born to Abraham and Elizabeth a tree was planted in the orchard for him . They had fourteen children in all , and each child had its `` birth tree . '' Every family festival was commemorated in like fashion , and every beloved visitor who spent a night under their roof was expected to plant a tree in the orchard .
So it came XXXXX pass that every tree in it was a fair green monument to some love or delight of the vanished years .
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