On the north side of the old tavern was a great cherry orchard.

In years back it had been a source of considerable revenue to Silas Berry, but for some seasons his returns from it had been very small.
The cherries had rotted on the branches, or the robins had eaten them, for Silas would not give them away.

Rose and her mother would smuggle a few small baskets of cherries to Sylvia Crane and Mrs.
Barnard, but Silas's displeasure, had he found them out, would have been great.

"I ain't a-goin' to give them cherries away to nobody," he would proclaim.

"If folks don't want 'em enough to pay for 'em they can go without." Many a great cherry picnic had been held in Silas Berry's orchard.
Parties had come in great rattling wagons from all the towns about, and picked cherries and ate their fill at a most overreaching and exorbitant price.
There were no cherries like those in Silas Berry's orchard in all the country roundabout.