In every rural neighborhood there are smart men--"smart"
is the proper adjective; for they are neither sagacious nor
trustworthy, and there is ever a dismal hiatus between their
promises and performance. Such men lie in wait for newcomers, to
take advantage of their inexperience and necessary absence. They
will assure their confiding employers that they are beyond
learning anything new in the planting of trees--which is true, in
a sinister sense. They will leave roots exposed to sun and wind--
in brief, pay no more attention to them than a baby-farmer would
bestow on an infant's appetite; and then, when convenient, thrust
them into a hole scarcely large enough for a post. They expect to
receive their money long before the dishonest character of their
work can be discovered. The number of trees which this class of
men have dwarfed or killed outright would make a forest. The
result of a well-meaning yet ignorant man's work might be equally
unsatisfactory. Therefore, the purchaser of the acre should know
how a tree should be planted, and see to it himself; or he should
by careful inquiry select a man for the task who could bring
testimonials from those to whom he had rendered like services in
the past.
The hole destined to receive a shade or fruit tree should be at
least three feet in diameter and two feet deep.
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