Undoubtedly, by consenting to receive money from me, Mr. Tappan did
invest me with certain rights, and among the most evident of them, I
consider the property in the fruit. What is a garden without its
currant bushes and fruit trees? Last year, no question of this nature
was raised: our right seemed to be tacitly conceded, and if you
claimed or exercised any manorial privileges, it never came to my
knowledge. This season when Mr. Tappan inquired what part of the
garden I wanted to cultivate, I supposed that he wished to know in
order that he might send Cornelius to plough it--as he very kindly
did. It never came into my mind that I should lose the most valuable
part of the demesne by failing to plant it. If the fruit trees have
suffered by my neglect, this was reasonable ground for remonstrance on
Mr. Tappan's part, but would hardly justify him in so summary a
measure as that of taking the property out of my hands, at once, and
without a word of explanation, or even informing me of the fact. Nor
do I conceive that he had any purpose of doing so.
At all events, Sophia and I supposed ourselves to be in full
possession of that part of the garden, and in having a right of
property over its products, more extensive than that of Adam and Eve
in Eden, inasmuch as it excluded not a single tree. Such being our
view of the matter, you meet Mary Beekman, carrying a basket of fruit.
You stop her, look at the contents of the basket, and inquire as to
its destination.
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