Beneath a graceful old elm near the edge of the pond, Clayton stopped.

And this is the story that the mother told, while they all sat on the door-step under the old elm.

He stopped the car under a towering, old elm and switched off the headlamps.

The other two were mostly concealed in stands of graceful old elms.

Then a hollow sound was heard, and a ball broke a main branch of the old elm.

Some immense old elms almost concealed the front of the mansion.

The old elm had been leaning precipitously for months.

It was getting dark under the old elms.

And then there is the fact that even the oldest American elms somehow never look old.

Blue crouched beside an old elm that was dying; he waited for a call on his cell phone.