One was a white cling, and one was yellow.

There was a yellow freestone as big as a young sun, and as golden, and the queerest of all was a cling purple as a beet.
Sometimes father read about the hairs of the head being numbered, because we were so precious in the sight of the Almighty.

Mother was just as particular with her purple tree; every peach on it was counted, and if we found one on the ground, we had to carry it to her, because it MIGHT be sound enough to can or spice for a fair, or she had promised the seed to some one halfway across the state.

At each end of the peach row was an enormous big pear tree; not far from one the chicken house stood on the path to the barn, and beside the other the smoke house with the dog kennel a yard away.

Father said there was a distinct relationship between a smoke house and a dog kennel, and bulldogs were best.