Copyright N? COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. * * « THE APPLE -TREE SPRITE By Miss Morley The Apple-Tree Sprite. 12mo. . . . $1.10 A Song of Life. 12mo 1.10 Life and Love. 12mo 1.10 The Bee People. 12mo 1.10 Little Mitchell. 12mo 1.10 The Renewal of Life. 12mo. . . . 1.10 Grasshopper Land. 12mo 1.10 Donkey John of the Toy Valley. 12mo 1.10 Will o’ the Wasps. 12mo 1.10 All Fully Illustrated A. C. McCLURG & CO. CHICAGO THE Apple-tree Sprite BY MARGARET WARNER MORLEY Author of “A SONG OF LIFE,” “WILL O’ THE WASPS,” “ THE BEE PEOPLE,” ETC. ILLUSTRATED CHICAGO A. C. McCLURG & CO. 1915 Copyright A. C. McClurg & Co. 1915 Published October, 1 9 1 5 9 CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. THE APPLE TREE i II. NOW COMES THE SPRITE .... 4 III. A SHOWER OF PETALS 8 IV. AWAY GO SOME OF THE YOUNG APPLES . 12 V. WHEN THE FAIRY COMES AGAIN . . 19 VI. THE CRADLES 25 VII. WHAT ELSE? 30 VIII. APPLE STEMS AND NECTAR CUPS, POLLEN GRAINS AND OVULES . . 3 3 IX. BREAD AND HONEY 38 X. APPLES AND APPLE SEEDS .... 42 XI. RIPE APPLES 48 XII. CHRISTOBEL PASSES HER EXAMINA- TION 54 XIII. THANKSGIVING 58 XIV. THE APPLE STORY 61 XV. A MIDNIGHT VISIT . 64 XVI. FATHER’S STORY . 69 XVII. THE APPLES OF HESPERIDES ... 73 XVIII. MORE STORIES 81 XIX. ATALANTA 85 XX. A NORTHERN APPLE STORY ... 90 XXL OTHER APPLES 97 XXII. SPRING COMES AGAIN 99 XXIII. WHAT IS A FLOWER? 104 XXIV. THE COMING OF THE BEES .... 109 XXV. SUMMER EVENINGS 113 XXVI. THE IDEA OF THE TREE . . . ... 118 XXVII. CHRISTOBEL’S DECISION 123 XXVIII. WHERE OUR APPLES CAME FROM . 131 6 Contents CHAPTER PAGE XXIX. FUN AND FACT 139 XXX. AUTUMN LEAVES 143 XXXI. PLANNING AN APPLE THANKSGIVING PARTY . 147 XXXII. THE INVITATIONS lSS XXXIII. ALL IS READY 1 59 XXXIV. THE PARTY 167 XXXV. THE NIGHT AFTER THE PARTY . .171 XXXVI. THE PEARS . . 175 XXXVII. THE QUINCE-TREE FAIRY .... 187 XXXVIII. COUSINS, UNCLES, AND AUNTS . . 195 XXXIX. PLANTING THE APPLE TREE ... 201 THE APPLE TREE lr C HRISTOBEL went to sleep in the apple tree. She climbed into the low crotch, made herself comfortable, and went to sleep. The tree was covered with pink and white blossoms that clustered close about her. They looked at her and kept very still. 2 The Apple-Tree Sprite A mother robin sat on her eggs in the tree top, only the tip' of her bill showing over the rim of the nest. The father bird stopped singing when he saw Christobel. He turned his head on one side, stooped down and looked at her. “That is not a bird,” he thought. “It looks more like a big white apple blossom with red trimmings.” He thought this be- cause Christobel had on a white dress and red hair-ribbons and red stockings. Suddenly a little red topknot bobbed around the tree trunk, and then bobbed back again out of sight. Mr. Woodpecker had his nest in a hole in the tree where his wife was sitting on the eggs. He went in and told her about it. “I am sure it is a little girl,” he said, “ and that is not as bad as a cat.” A bit of a wren came flitting close and looked her over. Then he hurried away, scolding with all his might. The honey bees flew over her on their way to get honey from the flowers. A big black wasp settled on her hand for a mo- 3 The Apple Tree ment, flirted his wings and buzzed on about his business. A yellow-girdled bumble bee fumbled about in a flower cup close to her ear, loading his baskets with pollen bread. The sun up in the sky rained golden light all over the tree and the apple blossoms and Christobel. A LL at once Christobel came wide awake. At least that is the way it seemed to her when she thought about it afterwards. “Dear me,” she said, “I wish I had a ripe apple, right now.” Then she stared and sat up straight. What she saw was a 4 Now Comes the Sprite 5 little old woman with cheeks as red as a rose, and a smile as pleasant as a May day. She had a silky-white shawl over her shoul- ders and a neat white cap on her head, and she looked very wise, although she was scarcely six inches high. “She reminds me of grandmother,” thought Christobel. Then the little old woman spoke in a very pleasant voice — “just like grandmother’s,” again thought Christobel. “My Dear,” said the little old woman, “ 1 can give you a ripe apple right off this tree, but first I shall have to finish it; you can see for yourself that the apples are only just begun.” “Oh,” said Christobel, politely, “you must not hurry on my account. It must be a great deal of trouble to finish up so many apples — do you have it all to do?” “I should think so!” and the little .old woman laughed merrily. “Not only the apples on this tree, but on every tree in the orchard. For you must know that each orchard has its own Apple-Tree Sprite, and 6 The Apple-Tree Sprite I am the Sprite of this one. Would you like to see me finish an apple ? ” “Oh, yes, that I would,' ” said Christobel eagerly; then added, “but perhaps I ought not to bother you. Mother says I am al- ways bothering her to do one thing when she wants to do another.” “Oh, no matter,” said the little old woman in so cheery a tone that Christobel laughed aloud. “ It will amuse me to fin- ish up an apple right off. It will be some- thing new. Generally I do a little on all of them and there are so many I never get done with it before summer is over and gone. Besides, now is as good as any time to show you a thing or two while you are asleep.” “Am I asleep ? ” asked Christobel, very much mortified. “If you are, so much the better; your mind won't be wandering about whenever a turkey clucks or a chicken peeps. So much the better.” And the little old woman nodded her head solemnly three times, and then burst out laughing and laughed until 7 Now Comes the Sprite Christobel could not help joining in, and laughed and laughed too, until she thought she would roll out of the tree. “Dear me,” said the little old woman, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief as fine as a cobweb, “dear me, it is the smell of the apple blossoms. It always makes one feel like laughing.” “ I have noticed it,” said Christobel. Ill A SHOWER OF PETALS “MOW watch!” and the Apple-Tree IN Sprite flashed like light among the flowers, now here, now there. It seemed to Christobel that she was everywhere at once. Then something happened. Down from the tree fell a shower of petals. They all let go at once, dozens and hundreds of them, floating and turning about and set- tling down to the ground that was already white with petals. For when apple blos- soms fall, as you well know, they look white rather than pink as they cover the earth. How Christobel laughed ! “ That was so pretty,” she cried, “like tiny white butter- flies dancing about in the air; or no, it was like great big pink and white snow flakes, and there is the snow on the ground.” 8 9 A Shower of Petals “You may think it a small matter to take off the petals from more than a hun- dred big trees,” said the Sprite with a merry laugh as she came to rest, light as thistle- down, on a twig near Christobel; “but 1 can tell you, it is a big undertaking. I feel as if I had worked a year by the time it is over with.” “Oh, but,” said Christobel, in surprise, “why now, did you do it? I thought the wind blew them off!” “Well, that is where you are mistaken, My Dear,” said the little old woman, whose eyes twinkled so, and whose cheeks grew so red that Christobel thought she must be going to have another laughing fit. “Of course the wind helps when all is ready; but first I have to go about and carefully loosen each petal. Otherwise the wind might blow himself hoarse and not one would let go. You think it cruel to send them fluttering down away from their tree? Oh, My Dear, how could the little apples grow if they staid forever coddled up in pink petals? The petals, you know, IO The Apple-Tree Sprite are only the clothing after all. They are the pretty baby clothes of the little green apples. Now I must be off again,” and Christobel saw the little old woman flashing here and there all over the tree. When she got a little way off she looked like a tiny star. “Now watch !” and she again alighted on a twig close to Christobel. “Listen!” and Christobel heard a breeze running and dancing through the trees. “That little breeze is after them,” chuckled the little old woman. And then the breeze caught them, and whirled them, and tossed them. Into its arms leaped each pink petal, around and about, up and down and away they danced and whirled in a grand frolic. Then they all settled down as sedate as snowflakes to the ground. Christobel had stuffed her fist into her mouth to keep from squealing at the pretty sight. Now she took it out and said, “Oh, but that was pretty! How do you do it? How do you make them let go? ” “ I’ll show you,” and the little old woman pinched the end of a petal that had not yet A Shower of Petals II fallen. She pinched it just where it was fastened to the flower. Christobel noticed that her fingers were as slender as the feel- ers of a May fly, and yet wherever they pinched it, the petal dried up at that point. “ Pinch some more,” begged Christobel, and the little old woman pinched and pinched, until another breeze came along and carried away all the petals she had loosened. “That,” said the little old woman, as they watched the merry dance, “is the very first step towards finishing up an apple. You must get rid of the petals, you know.” AWAY GO SOME OF THE YOUNG APPLES OW what? ” asked ing at a cluster of tiny green apples left bare by the flying away of the petals. “If those were real babies they would surely take cold out in the wind with nothing on — but they are hard as bul- lets, and not much bigger — queer apples, those! ” The fairy laughed and began to caress one of the little green bullets, and Christo- bel saw it grow larger and smoother under her magic touch. The rest of the apples in the same cluster did not grow at all. 12 Away Go the Young Apples 13 “ Those other apples must all fall off like the petals. I will attend to that in a minute,” said the little old woman, as she saw Christobel looking at them and wondering. “Oh, the poor little apples,” cried Chris- tobel; “do help them, too; why need they fall?” “Oh, it won't hurt,” laughed the little old woman. “They won’t know anything , about it, poor dears; they will just disap- pear. It does no harm to disappear, you know, if you don’t know it. The reason they must go is this: if they all grew up, how much room would there be on that twig for them? You see, there would not be room for any of them to grow properly. Now, when I finish apples I want them worth the trouble. So I take only the big- gest and best in each cluster, and help the others down to the ground where they have something worth while to do.” “Something to do? Down there on the ground — all dead and rotten? ” and Chris- tobel’s lip trembled for a moment. 14 The Apple-Tree Sprite The Sprite looked at her, then said gen- tly: “You don’t understand, child. They turn back into what they came from. / what 'else to say. “I should think so,” and the little old woman laughed again, and her laughter now sounded like a chime of little silver bells, and Christobel noticed how she had changed. She seemed all made of dew drops and sunbeams so that the very air about her sparkled and smelled damp and sweet. Christobel began to feel warm and lazy as one feels in midsummer, and she saw that the little apple the fairy was still caressing kept on growing. And now the light little fingers touched the stems of some of the other little apples in the cluster, and lo ! the stems at the point 16 The Apple-Tree Sprite where she touched them withered away until they no longer clung fast to the branch but one by one fell lightly to the ground. Christobel thought the little old woman's face looked sad at the moment this hap- pened, but she could not be sure, for in a moment it sparkled and shone, and her cheeks were as red as the heart of the sun at midday. “I don’t take the whole cluster off at once,” she said, gaily; “if I left only one apple to grow, something might go wrong with it, then where would you be ! Besides, it is only fair to give them all a chance. The weakest go right away. But the rest stay on, and after awhile the next weakest have to go, and so on until only one or two of the best stay.” “ But if you make them all, why do you make one better than the rest? ” The fairy shook her head. “ I don’t make ' them — and 1 do. They have to help — that is all I can say. I can’t help making some better than others. It comes so in spite of me.” Away Go the Young Apples 17 Christobel clapped her hands. “The poorest of the little green apples fall off! Now that is why we always see the ground under the apple tree covered with little green apples! I used to wonder why they did it, and wish they would stay on the tree and grow. But now 1 see they fall off, or else we wouldn’t have any good apples at all!” “Yes,” said the fairy, nodding her head very fast and dimpling all over. “ Now you have it. The best stay on. The others have to get out of the way. It is a law of nature, and a good law, too.” “Now,” went on the fairy, “you must go, your mother is calling you; and as for me — well, you know there is work enough for me to do with these petals not all off yet, and a whole orchardful of apples to finish up, to say nothing of the leaves that are only half done.” “ Do you have to make all the leaves too ? I wish I could help you,” said Christobel, longingly. She thought it would be a fine thing to spend the summer finishing up 1 8 The Apple-Tree Sprite apples. But all of a sudden she discovered that the fairy had gone and that her mother really was calling, although she had not heard her before. V WHEN THE FAIRY COMES AGAIN “\V7HY, Christobel, where have you VV been? ” asked mother, a little impa- tiently. “ I have been calling and calling.” “I didn't hear only the last call,” said Christobel, rushing into the house. “ And, oh, Mummy Dear, do you know all those things father told us about how apples grow are true ! I have seen it with my own eyes,” and she told about the visit from the Apple- Tree Sprite, in which her mother was very much interested. “ It is a pretty story,” said mother, when it was done, “and the best of it is, it is all true.” Of course, Christobel told it all over to her father and the boys that night. “You went to sleep and dreamed it,” said Robert, teasingly. “ No matter if she did,” said father, catch- ing Christobel as she made a dash at Robert. 19 were not looking, she climbed into the apple tree again, but could not see the fairy anywhere. She tried for several days, but as she saw nothing, she finally gave it up, and just lay and looked up into the sky. “Now have your eyes about you, My Dear/’ cried a merry, wee little voice. “Oh, it is you,” exclaimed Christobel, delightedly, and sure enough, there sat the Apple-Tree Sprite, not three feet away, smiling and nodding. “Where were you? ” asked Christobel in surprise. “I have been looking every- where.” The fairy laughed and then repeated, “ Now have your eyes about you, for here is a sight you will not see every day.” And 21 When the Fairy Comes Again Christobel, looking, saw indeed a strange thing. The little apple the Sprite was caressing seemed to have become transpar- ent like glass. She could see inside it and watch what was going on there. Not that the apple itself had changed, but the fairy had given Christobel’s eyes the power to see through the apple. The right kind of fairies can do that, you know. “Why!” cried Christobel, “you are building up the apple like a little block house, and how funny! you keep splitting the blocks to make more; and the blocks — why, they grow! ” “Just keep looking,” said the fairy, glee- fully; “just keep looking.” “Why!” exclaimed Christobel, “I see the sap streaming in, down through the little apple stem. It comes running in and bathes all the little blocks and they grow!” “That is just it!” cried the fairy, who grew brighter and gayer every minute, so that no one could any longer say she looked like a little old woman. As she spoke she 22 The Apple-Tree Sprite caressed the young apple yet more lov- ingly, and it grew larger and larger, and Christobel saw little white seeds inside the core. “Oh, see!” she cried; “the little seeds are fastened to the sides by oh, such tiny, tiny stems. Why,” she went on, “ through those very tiny stems the sap flows in, and oh, it is your wee fingers, there inside the seeds, weaving and weaving and making the seeds larger!” “ I don’t quite like you to call my build- ing material blocks,” said the Sprite with a merry nod at Christobel. “Blocks make one think of hard, dead, solid chunks of wood. Now, these little things I use are neither hard nor dead. They are alive. They are like very delicate skins filled with clear jelly, only this jelly is alive, and they have many shapes.” “Oh, I know!” exclaimed Christobel, suddenly remembering, “your little live building blocks are called ‘cells’ — isn’t that it?” “Yes, that is what men call them; it is When the Fairy Comes Again 23 better to give them a name of their own, you know,” and the Sprite went on weav- ing away at the magic apple. “What am I to call you?” asked Chris- tobel, feeling sudden awe of the cheery and wonderful little creature. As the child asked this, the fairy seemed to flame out in a great light, and her voice was very sweet as she said, “lama servant of the good God. I follow his will. Now watch!” and the apple began to enlarge faster and faster. “How it does grow — you can almost see it grow!” said Christobel, just as her mother said of the apples on this tree every year. “Almost!” sparkled the fairy, and laughed merrily, while Christobel laughed too and said, “Oh, this time I can quite see it grow, and how much lighter and looser the pulp looks now, and it is getting to be such a clear, pretty color, and see — why, the apple is full size now, the seeds, have turned black, too! and, oh dear! oh dear!” — for the air was all hot and sweet 24 The Apple-Tree Sprite like early autumn, and such a change was taking place in the apple! “ I am baking it for you now, My Dear,” said the fairy merrily. “You know ripe apples are just apples baked by the sunshine that I pour into them — there!” and sure enough, the sour, hard pulp of the green apple suddenly mellowed and became full of rich golden juice, and a delicate and deli- cious fragrance streamed forth until all the world smelled like a ripe apple. “ I must paint the skin a little,” said the fairy, still caressing the apple, which began to grow red, and became redder and redder, until it was the reddest-red apple you ever saw. “It is so pretty!” cried Christobel, “I shall never be able to eat it, I know. And yet, how good it smells. Dear me! To think of ever having anything as lovely as apples to eat.” THE CRADLES C HRISTOBEL could still see inside the apple, right through the bright red skin, and she noticed how the fairy’s fingers had woven the core together with tough threads made of the core cells until it was hard enough to stick in your throat. “Why wouldn’t a soft core be rather nice?” suggested Christobel, a little tim- idly, for she did not wish to seem to criti- cise the work of the fairy. “Why, My Dear,” said the Sprite, laugh- ing gleefully, and shaking her head, “the truth is, this core is a cradle. It is the cradle of the apple seeds, and they, you know, are 25 26 The Apple-Tree Sprite the children of the tree. Yes, the little seed babies need a good strong cradle to protect them from being chewed up by cows or boys, or by anybody who might chance to eat the apple. The seed babies are impor- tant, you know — the dear little children of the apple tree.” “Oh, I see,” said Christobel, “but I won- der why you always make five little cradles in the core; no more, no less. I have often noticed it.” “ 1 can’t tell you that, My Dear, any more than I can tell you why I always make five dainty petals and five strong, green calyx lobes on each flower. Five is my number, that is all I can say.” “The petals fall off, but the calyx stays, and so do the dried-up stamens,” said Chris- tobel. “ See, each little green apple is tipped with five green points and a crowd of little dried-up stamens, and — oh, dear me, here they are, all withered up and brown, on the ripe apple, too!” The Sprite smiled and twinkled. “Yes, they stay on. They are all that remains of Cradles 27 the blossom. The finished apple always bears those reminders of its blossoming days.” : I am glad they stay on,” said Christobel, “they finish the apple off so well. Why, an apple would not look like itself without the little dried-up brown rose in the dimple opposite the stem. Dear me!” and Christobel suddenly clapped her hands. “Suppose the petals did not fade and fall; suppose they staid on the end of the apple, too; wouldn’t that be pretty!” The fairy laughed a little sadly. “You wouldn’t like it,” she said; “it would be neither one thing nor the other; there are reasons why you wouldn’t like it.” “My little botany book says that the apple-tree blossoms and the apples grow all for the sake of the apple-seed children,” said Christobel, suddenly remembering. The fairy shook her head. “ Half right and two-thirds wrong, My Dear. Almost everything that people write is that way — half right and two-thirds wrong. Please 28 The Apple-Tree Sprite remember that. The tree blossoms and the seeds grow, is the truer way to put it. No, no, the tree does not blossom for the seeds alone; but when the tree bursts out into beautiful flowers — why, then the seeds are a part of it. And it is so with the apple, too. The rich, juicy apple is not wholly for the sake of the seeds, but when the joy of life laughs out in lovely apples, the seeds are a part of it all. I hope you understand, My Dear.” “ I do — sort of,” said Christobel, hesi- tatingly. The fairy laughed and it was like the tinkling of little silver bells. “Oh, My Dear! the fragrance and the loveliness of flowers are not wholly for the sake of the little senseless seeds. The fragrance and the flowers, My Dear, are the spring songs, the love songs of the blessed earth, and the seeds are born from them. You must not make a mistake and get it wrong, or it may make a difference with your whole life's happiness.” Christobel said nothing, and soon the The Cradles 29 fairy went on, — “You might as well say, My Dear, that the sap runs, and the whole tree grows for the sake of the seeds.” “ How absurd that would be ! ” laughed Christobel. “Yes, yes, it would be absurd, utterly absurd; no, it’s the other way — the sap runs and the tree grows in beauty, and it gives a part of its own great life to the seeds that, other trees may spring from it, and grow in beauty and happiness.” VII WHAT ELSE? D O you make the sap run and cause the tree to grow ? ” asked Christobel, thoughtfully. “ Perhaps it is enough for one fairy, though, to make apples.” The fairy twinkled. “Yes, My Dear, I do it all, and you may believe that in the spring of the year I sometimes feel as though What Else? 31 tiful, one moment among the apple blos- soms, the next at the root of the tree, down in the ground among the tender rootlets; oh, it is joy to wake up the young rootlets and put food into their eager, searching mouths! How the little tender mouths suck up the juices of the earth! And the lifeless food that they draw from the great earth mother they build into a living body.” “They first make it into sap,” said Christobel. “Yes, and what is sap? It is the blood of the plant, the rich, life-giving blood that mounts up through the roots, and through the trunk of the tree, and out through the branches and the little twigs to the green leaves, where it is changed into perfect food for the flowers and the fruits. Yes, My Dear, first and last, your apple is made of sap, the blood of the plant.” “Our blood is red,” said Christobel. “Yes, it is red, the loveliest rich-red color in the world; redder than rubies, My Dear, and more precious than rubies of Burmah. 32 The Apple-Tree Sprite You see your beautiful blood sometimes when you scratch your finger, and it comes rushing forth, hot and bright, the most bril- liant red color there is in all the world. Oh, it is well for your blood to be red, My Dear. The blood of the plant is pale and thin; it does not need to be all rich and red like yours.” “ What color is your blood, pretty fairy ?” asked Christobel, curiously. But the fairy only laughed. VIII APPLE STEMS AND NECTAR CUPS POLLEN GRAINS AND OVULES “T^HE sap gets into the apple through the A stem/’ said Christobel, wishing to con- tinue the conversation. “Yes,” responded the Apple-Tree Sprite, “it gets in through the stem. Every apple stem has to be made as carefully as can be so that the sap can pass through it into the core with its five little cradles, you know, and into the tiny seeds that are fastened to the cradles by tiny, tiny stems. It takes nimble wits to make an apple, My Dear.” “I should think so,” said Christobel, “ and so many things to think about in fin- ishing up a flower — the nectar cups now. I should like to make nectar cups and fill them with honey for the bees.” “Oh, yes, it is a pleasant task to make nectar cups and distil the sweet nectar into 33 34 The Apple-Tree Sprite them. It is a joy, too, to make the anther pockets and fill them with pollen dust. Oh, that pollen! It is as important a piece of work as the little seeds in the core. When all is said, there is ^ f nothing about the tree so difficult ^ to get just right as the pollen grains and the young seeds which you call ovules. The ovules, you know, are the , very beginnings of the seeds.” “Yes, I know,” said Chris- tobel, “but why is it so difficult to make them? Apple Stems and Nectar Cups 35 make a tree; but when it comes to a pollen grain, or an ovule there is no room then for mistakes. Every touch, every atom must be perfect. You see the whole tree must be put safely away in each pollen grain; think of that! and in each ovule. Ah, what a task is this! such countless millions of pollen grains to be budded off from the inner part of the anthers, each one per- fect, each bearing the impress of the whole tree! And from the inner wall of the seed pod, you know, from the inner wall of the cradle, must be budded off the ovules, each one perfect of its kind, and each bearing the power to produce again the whole tree.” “I thought the pollen held half the 36 The Apple-Tree Sprite tree, and the ovule the other half,” said Christobel. Again the fairy tinkled out that laugh like a chime of little bells. “More than half, My Dear, more than half. Each is all, yet each without the other is naught. Each must have in it the idea of the whole, yet each would surely die without the other. It is a wonderfully hard task, My Dear.” “I don’t see how you can!” suddenly exclaimed Christobel. The fairy burst into a laugh as wild and merry as the west wind. “Oh, it is easy, so easy.” “But — I thought you said it was hard.” “Did I? Well, that is when you think about it. To do it is so easy! You find it easy to grow, don’t you, My Dear? But if you stopped to think about it — to think what it really is to grow — I doubt if you could grow an inch in a thousand years. Oh, it is easy to do.” “And think of all those precious pollen grains wasted on the bees, who merely eat them up,” sighed Christobel. Apple Stems and Nectar Cups 3 7 “Not wasted, you child of the blessed earth; not wasted; no, not wasted. Many extra pollen grains there must be, to make sure that some of them find the waiting ovules. And all the rest — how pleasant it is that many of them lie spread in the chalice of the flower, ambrosia for gauzy winged visitors. How can you call them wasted when they serve so lovely a use.” IX BREAD AND HONEY “X/OU are pleased with everything,” said I Christobel, laughing. “1 think you love to work.” “Love to work!” echoed the fairy with so sweet a laugh that a flash of sunshine seemed to break over the earth. “ I should think I do love to work! Why, do you know, I am work; I could not live a minute if I stopped working, neither could you, for that matter, though you may not know it. There is nothing so beautiful as work. Why, work, My Dear, is life itself, do you know that? But to return to ovules and pollen — yes, to make a pollen grain is like making a tree, a perfect tree, the size of a pollen grain.” “But is the pollen grain a little tree? How can it be when it is made of only one cell, while the tree has to be built up of 38 39 Bread and Honey millions of cells of all shapes and sizes — at least that is the way my botany book puts it.” The fairy laughed until the leaves and flowers danced all over the apple tree. “ Now that is the hard part, if any part could be hard — to make a perfect tree and yet not make it at all! ” “But you don’t make a real tree; you make something that can grow into a tree,” reasoned Christobel. “Well, what’s the difference?” asked the fairy, shaking with merriment. “ I’m sure I don’t know,” admitted Chris- tobel, laughing too. “ But I am glad, since you don’t mind making it, that there is pollen enough for the bees and the wasps and all the dear little folks with wings; what would they do without it? and nectar, too, for them to drink and carry home to the hives. I wonder how apple-blossom honey tastes.” “ 1 have tasted it,” said the fairy, “many a time, but that will not help you, for I know you will have to taste for yourself. 4 o The Apple-Tree Sprite But this I can tell you, when you taste the fragrance of apple blossoms on your tongue and smell the warmth of a spring day and feel the sunshine of June in your heart, why then you may know you are eating apple- blossom honey.” “Oh, my!” exclaimed Christobel, “I must coax the bees for a taste! Father will not take away their early honey; he says they need it themselves, and so we have to wait for clover honey; apple-blossom honey! Perhaps some day the bees will give me a taste.” “And there is the incense to prepare,” continued the fairy; “ let us not forget that; the sweet perfumes that bear the invita- tions far and near to the friends of the flowers to come to the feast.” “Perfumery must be about as hard to make as the pollen, I should think,” said Christobel. “Oh, no,” laughed the fairy; “the fra- grance of the flowers is nothing at all.” “ But it is so small you can’t see it ! ” How the fairy laughed! “Unseen to 4i Bread and Honey you, My Dear, but to me, well, as real as a ripe apple is to you. Size doesn’t count, you know. It is only the way you are made that makes other things seem large or small. Now you probably think that I am small? ” The fairy stopped and twinkled at Christo- bel, who turned quite red and began to stammer out something, but the fairy only laughed gaily and went on: “No, I am not small; and you are not large. Nothing is really large or really small; it all depends! ” And the lively little creature began to laugh again, and laughed until the clouds in the sky shone back as if laughing too. X APPLES AND APPLE SEEDS “nPHERE are a good many kinds of A apples,” said Christobel at last; “ even In this orchard there are quite a number. How can you remember to make each itself always? What is the difference, anyway? Now, what is the difference between — well, between a pippin and a Baldwin? We have both, you know, and they are as dif- ferent as can be.” The fairy laughed again until the apple blossoms danced on the tree and the west wind stooped suddenly down and kissed them. “ That really isn’t my concern,” she said, as soon as she had sobered down a little, “and I don’t know the secret, My Dear. Each apple tree can help itself, you know. If it couldn’t, I couldn’t help it. It remem- bers. What its parents were it remembers to become itself. It couldn’t grow without 42 Apples and Apple Seeds 43 my help, and I couldn’t help it unless it could grow. Do you see? ” “Not very well,” said Christobel. “Well, at least you are not alone in that. Even grown people have difficulty. Apple seeds remember something. But sometimes an apple seed gets a new idea. Now don’t ask me how or where, for I don’t know. It gets it out of space, somehow. Space is full of ideas, you know. Indeed, space is nothing but ideas; all you need do is to leave an opening for them to leak in. Some apple seeds let in ideas. Then you get a new kind of apple.” “Is that the way it came about?” asked Christobel, opening her eyes in astonishment. “Well, yes and no. Sometimes it is the grown tree that gets the idea. Sometimes a tree will bear a new kind of apple on one of its limbs, and not on the others.” “Oh, I know about that,” said Christo- bel, eagerly. “One of our trees does that. One limb had a new kind of apple last year, but it wasn’t as good as the rest.” 44 The Apple-Tree Sprite “Yes, these new things are sometimes better, sometimes worse. When they are better, they are likely to be cared for by the people and kept; where they are worse, nobody helps them to keep on, and in time they die out. Apples were not always what they are today,” the fairy went on. “ They were not always big and beautiful and sweet and juicy. They owe their present perfec- tion to man’s efforts. Would you like me to tell you how it came about ? ” “ Oh, do ! ” cried Christobel, eagerly. So the fairy went on. “Once upon a time apples were not large nor very juicy nor very good flavored. Oh, but they were sour and puckery and hard, too. Indeed, the best of them were little better than crab apples. I remember when they were like that — not a single really good apple in all the world. “Dear me!” exclaimed Christobel. “What did folks do for apples in those days? ” “ They went without,” laughed the fairy. “They went without a good many things Apples and Apple Seeds 45 in those days. Well, as I was saying, there were only crab apples.” “ Where did the seeds come from for real apple trees to grow out of?” interrupted Christobel. “ That is just what I am coming to,” went on the fairy. “They did not come from anywhere, or rather they came from every- where. I just took the best trees and cared for them.” “You did it?” interrupted Christobel again. “ Why, I thought you just said — ” “Yes, I know I said that people did it, and so they did. Still, in spite of that, it was I who did it, though in rather a round- about way. You see, I put it into the minds of the people so that they watched the trees and saved the best and cared for them and kept on in this way until in course of time — oh, in thousands and thousands of years — men had orchards of fine apple trees, such as you have today. Oh, yes, by selection and care you can get almost any- thing you want in the way of an apple. Every family could have its own special 46 The Apple-Tree Sprite apple, if it wanted to. You could have a new apple and give it your family name, if you wanted to.” “ Really?” asked Christobel. “To be sure you could.” “Could I have just the kind I wanted? ” “Within limits you could. Of course, you couldn’t start a new kind yourself. Nobody on earth could do that. But when a new kind appeared you could keep it. Right now there is a chance for you. On this very tree is a limb that bears wonder- fully good apples.” “Oh, I know!” exclaimed Christobel. “ 1 know. It is the big limb over my head. It has such good apples every year! Father is going to take off some of the buds and plant them in another apple tree, and he says they will grow just as if they were on their own tree, and bear these good apples.” “ In time,” said the fairy, “ he could have a whole orchard of these good apple trees, and he could name them the Christobel apple if he wanted to.” Apples and Apple Seeds 47 “ Dear me, so he could,” said Christobel. “ 1 never thought of that.” “Look out!” cried the fairy and van- ished, as a whole skyful of petals fell like snow over Christobel, who started and stared and then laughed merrily as she caught sight of Robert’s mischievous face looking down from the limb above her. “Tell me what the fairy said,” he de- manded. “ I will, if you won’t say I’ve been asleep.” “I won’t say it, no matter what I may think,” was the discreet reply. XI RIPE APPLES C HRISTOBEL watched all summer for the Apple-T ree Sprite, but although she did not see her again, she did see how the apples went on their accus- tomed course — growing dav^ day, the poorer ones falling^ * the ground, the good ones/ coming shaped and painte ' mellowed autumn Ripe Apples 49 leaves began to change color. When the earth was all in a blaze one splendid Octo- ber day, Christobel climbed into the crotch of the old apple tree, hoping that the fairy would come again, as she had hoped so many times before that summer. And this time the fairy did come. But Christobel hardly knew her, she had changed so. She was dressed all in red and gold, and her hair was fluffy like dandelion silk and her skin was as white as milk and her eyes like shining stars. “You see,” said the fairy, “my work is about done, and I am getting rested. I feel quite young again.” “You look so,” said Christobel, heartily. “But people generally look rested before they have done hard work, and tired after- wards.” “ Oh, people are different,” said the fairy with her merry laugh. “ It rests us to work, you know. I feel quite old and worn out in the spring after resting all winter, not that I rest entirely even then; but in the fall when my beautiful apples are all but So The Apple-Tree Sprite finished, then is my very happiest time. You don’t know how it rests me just to go about and look at the apples on the trees.” “ I should think it would,” said Christo- bel, “but are you all done? ” “Not quite,” said the fairy. “You see most of the apples are yet on the trees. Unless the farmer comes and gathers them I shall have to loosen all the stems so they can fall to the ground where the seeds can grow.” “But the seeds don’t grow,” said Chris- tobel. “The hired man pulls up every- thing but the grass that grows under the apple trees.” “That is not my fault,” said the fairy, “ nor my concern. I have to stay about and loosen the apples when the time comes, if they are not taken off before I get around to it.” “I suppose,” said Christobel, “that you loosen the apples just as you did the petals? ” “Yes,” said the fairy, “but you can im- agine it takes more strength, or rather more Ripe Apples 51 time to undo the end of that hard, woody stem. And now,” the fairy went on, “you people must look after the apple trees and save them from the canker grubs that are lying at their roots.” “Can you not do that, too?” asked Christobel. The fairy shook her head and sent spar- kles all through the air. “ No, indeed, the canker folks do not belong to my kingdom. I get the frost and the rain to help me con- quer sometimes, and sometimes the little fungus people, but they have their own affairs to attend to and are not always ready when I need them. You see, I can help the wild apple trees better, but these fine apples that man has made are very tender and require more care than I can give.” “So that is why father has to spray the trees and dig codling moths out of the roots and burn the tents of the caterpillars in early summer,” said Christobel. “ Exactly so,” said the fairy. “ It was very good of you to do so well by our orchard this year,” said Christobel. 52 The Apple-Tree Sprite “ Now we shall have apples to eat all winter and a barrel of sweet cider and plenty of pies and apple sauce and some apples left to give away, and a great many for father to sell; yes, you have been very good to us. ,, “1 should like,” said the fairy, “to have your trees loaded with apples every year, but that I cannot do, for it is not the nature of the apple tree to bear without a resting year between.” “Orange trees do,” said Christobel, who had an aunt living in Florida who sent them a box of oranges every Christmas. “Orange trees are different,” said the fairy. “Apple trees have only learned to bear a full crop of apples every other year. You look and you will see the apple blos- soms bursting out of the buds at the end of last year's branches. Well, the next year, instead of apples, twigs grow, and out of these come again apples.” Christobel looked up into the apple tree over her head and it was covered all over with red apples, and they smelled so good she wanted to eat one. As she put out her Ripe Apples 53 hand she heard her father's voice quite close to her ear. “See,” he said, laughing, “what a great big apple I have found lodged in the crotch of the tree! Shall I put it in the bottom of the barrel, or on top? ” and he caught her by the arm as though he were going to drop her down into the apple barrel. “Oh, on top!” screamed Christobel, laughing and struggling to get free. Yes, her father and his men had come to gather the apples, and her father was stand- ing on the rung of a tall ladder that reached way up in the tree. “ I didn't hear you put that ladder up at all,” said Christobel. “No, I should think not. Lazy bones! sleeping in the daytime like a little owl, and likely enough dreaming about apple-tree fairies.” But Christobel shook her head. She was sure she had not been dreaming, and, any- way, the fairy story, whether dreamed or not, was as true as could be. XII CHRISTOBEL PASSES HER EXAMINA- TION D AY after day Christobel’s father and the hired men picked ripe apples. When school was out Christobel and the boys helped. They picked up the apples fallen to the ground and ted them into the bar- ls standing ready. Then came old gray Dobbin with the wagon and pulled load after load away to the railway station. But only the apples that the men picked carefully from the trees were put |Q into the barrels to be carted away. wish I knew who was eat them,” thought tobel. “ How I hope ^ little children l.d. the b >g. “How going to Chris the Christobel Passes Examination $$ crowded cities will like them. I wish they could see the dear trees they grow on.” The apples that fell to the ground were carefully sorted and only those without bruise or blemish were taken home to the cellar and stored away. “If any are bruised they will soon rot and spoil the rest,” father said. So into the cellar bins went the good apples, and when the work was done Robert called to his sister. “Come, Christobel,” he called; “come down cellar as fast as ever you can.” Christobel ran down the steps to the large dry and airy room where the apples were stored. “Did you ever smell anything to beat it?” demanded Robert. Christobel shut her eyes and drew in a long, blissful breath. “Nothing in the world smells sweeter to me than ripe apples,” she said. “My! my! doesn't this cellar smell good enough to eat! ” “ Now shut your eyes and don't peek,” said Robert loftily; “I am going to see if 56 The Apple-Tree Sprite you can pass your apple examination. Will you promise not to peek ? Or shall I have to tie a handkerchief over your eyes? ” “ I promise/' laughed Christobel. So Robert turned her around three times, then led her a few steps and said, “ Stoop over a little and smell. What kind of apples are in this bin ? ” “Baldwins!" said Christobel promptly. Robert grunted assent and led her a little farther. “Now what? ” Christobel took one long ecstatic sniff — “ Spitzenbergs ! ” Christobel Passes Examination 57 And so Robert led her around to all the bins and Christobel guessed right every time but one> The greenings were not ripe enough to perfume the air and Christobel called them something else. “Well,” said Robert, “you have passed very well. I will give you a graduating diploma, and you can have all the apples you want to eat all winter — all but greenings.” “ 1 can have all the apples I want without asking you, you old tease; they are father’s apples,” and Christobel began to spin around like a whirligig; “but I am glad I passed my examination,” she added, stop- ping and laughing. “So am I,” said Robert solemnly. “I am glad to be able to be proud of you.” XIII THANKSGIVING W HEN Thanksgiving came Christobel got up in the morning to find the ground all white with snow and big feath- ery flakes flying in the air. “Now for the fun!” she cried, jumping up and down. Right after breakfast she went out with the other children, Bennie and Robert and little Sue, and they threw snowballs, and drew each other on their new sleds and coasted down the long slope of the meadow while the wind came along with his icy switches and joined in the frolic and switched their cheeks until they were as red as fire. Then the aunts and uncles and cousins came to dinner, and oh, how good the Thanksgiving turkey tasted! And how much pie they all ate! a little piece of mince pie and a big piece of apple pie for S3 Thanksgiving 59 each child. Then there were games and fun and then the sleighs came with jingling bells and went away with the company. For supper they had apples baked before the open fire. Each person chose an apple and set it in front of the coals, and as it got soft on one side he turned it around and kept on turning it until it was soft all over and the juice began to sizzle out. When this happened he put the apple on a saucer and ate it with a spoon. If it was too sour a little sugar was sprinkled on it. But Christobel’s apple was not too sour. It was just right — just sweet enough, and just sour enough. You see she had chosen it from the fragrant bin that held the apples from the Baldwin tree in whose crotch she had lain while the Apple-Tree Fairy told her the story of her life work. “Father,” said Christobel, “tell us a story.” “Yes!” shouted all the children, “tell us a story!” “Well, what kind of story?” asked 6o The Apple-Tree Sprite father, beginning to peel another yellow apple, for he had already eaten one. “Let it be an apple story,” said Chris- tobel. “Yes, an apple story!” shouted the rest of the children. So father began. XIV THE APPLE STORY “/^VNCE upon a time some children lived with their father and mother in a very funny house. It stood out in the mid- dle of a lake on piles driven into the bottom of the lake. You could only get to it in boats, and there was a ladder that went from the water up to the door. They lived this way because it was long ago and they had to protect themselves from their ene- mies. There were no policemen and no laws and nobody to warn them of ap- proaching danger from man or beast. 62 The Apple-Tree Sprite so long ago, and just how they lived we do not know, but we know some things they had, for they dropped them into the water and the mud covered them and caked hard around them and preserved them, and long, long after the lake had dried up and people were no longer obliged to live over the water to protect themselves, men went and dug where the lakes had been, and found the things that had so long lain buried. And what among other things do you suppose they found? ” “Tin soldiers!” shrieked Bennie, with his eyes popping out. “No, you remember this is an apple story, my son; they found apples buried in the mud.” “Were they fit to eat?” demanded Robert. “ No, not fit to eat, but nevertheless very valuable, for they told us just as though it had been printed in a book how in that long-ago time the Swiss Lake Dwellers had apples to eat, just as we have. Now it is time to say good-night.” The Apple Story 63 “May I say a quotation first ?" de- manded Robert the tease as he tweaked one end of the big ribbon bow that adorned Christobel's head like an enormous butter- fly, and of which she was very proud. “ Well, what is it ? ” demanded Christobel suspiciously. “ ‘ How we dried apples swim/ ” squeaked Robert in a funny little voice, and made for the door only to be caught by father, who said he had a quotation, too, and repeated, “ ‘ A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver.' ” Robert laughed. “I don't know which way to take that," he said. Then the children kissed their parents good-night and went off to bed, and they were so tired and sleepy after the fun in the snow and the big Thanksgiving dinner and the games they had played with their cousins that they hardly knew how they got to bed. A MIDNIGHT VISIT I T SEEMED to Christobel that she had only slept a few minutes when she was wakened by a gentle tug at her little finger. “What is it?” asked Christobel, sitting up and looking around. “ It is only I ; don’t be frightened ” — and there, if you please, on the corner of the pillow, all wrapped in a snowflake shawl, sat the Sprite of the apple tree. “ I declare! ” said Christobel, rubbing her eyes. “My! How rosy you are; as red and shiny as a Baldwin apple!” “Little to wonder at in that,” said the fairy with her own merry laugh that, how- ever, sounded quite faint and hollow as compared with her summer laugh. “ Any- 64 A Midnight Visit 65 one who has to stay out in the snow with- out work enough to keep her from being tired may well turn red. But that is not the point. What I want to know is whether you would like to go out and see what I do to the apple tree in the winter time.” “That 1 would!” cried Christobel. “I would like it above all things, but I can’t. Mummy wouldn’t let me. Besides, I have on my nighty, and my feet are bare.” “Oh, that won’t matter,” said the fairy; “just let me wrap you up once in a thick snow mantle and you will be as snug as a bug in a rug. No cold in the right kind of snow mantle, I tell you. Are you sure your mother wouldn’t let you? ” “Perfectly sure,” said Christobel decid- edly. “ Mummy never lets me out in the night, not unless she or father has tight hold of my hand.” “Perhaps you don’t want to go?” “Oh, but I do!” said Christobel, almost ready to cry. “Well, that’s all right, then. You go back to bed and I’ll bring the tree here.” 66 The Apple-Tree Sprite “But I’m already in bed — ” began Christobel, but the fairy interrupted, “ Then stay there and watch.” And Chris- tobel saw the little old woman, for such the fairy had become again, jump out of the window and go across the snowy yard and over the snowy fence to where the apple tree stood up to its waist in snow, and with the snow piled like a cloak over all its branches, just as Christobel had seen it that morning when she was out coasting. The next thing she knew, the apple tree was right there in her own room, that had to be stretched a good deal to accommo- date it. “There now, Mummy won’t mind your getting up in the crotch right here in your own room. See how cozy I’ll make you,” and the little old woman took Christobel up and wrapped her in a warm woolly blan- ket that looked like snow but was as warm as toast, and set her up in the crotch. “Now look!” “Well, did you ever!” exclaimed Chris- tobel in delight, for the little old woman A Midnight Visit 67 put her tiny fingers into a twig that became transparent like glass, and Christobel saw her building up oh, such tiny cells into such tiny, tiny buds, just under the bark of the twig, and enlarging the little buds that had been started the summer before on the ends of the twigs. “Ho!” she said, “this is my winter work; very slow, you see, for the growing material is all spread out so thin, and most of it has settled down into the roots to be safe from Jack Frost.” “ Do you mean the tree is really growing in the winter time? ” “ It looks so,” laughed the fairy. “You see I cannot do nothing, I should be tired to death, and perhaps I might forget how, so I do a little on warm days and after the apples are off in the fall. It is not much, but it helps, I can tell you. It helps to get things started before the spring rush comes on. What with new twigs and so many leaves and so many bunches of blossoms to look after all at once, I can tell you I am too busy to think of being tired. But there 68 The Apple-Tree Sprite is such a thing as having too much to do, which is why I help along by doing what I can through the winter.” “I thought the sap went down into the roots for the winter,” said Christobel, thinking of her botany book. “So a good deal does, but not all, as you can see by bending a live twig and a dead one. There is a difference, isn’t there?” “Oh, yes,” said Christobel, “a great dif- ference; a dead twig snaps but a live one bends.” “Yes, that is so; and now if you look at the apple trees carefully you will see next year’s buds all started at the ends of the twigs. I did most of that during the sum- mer. But this year there will not be many flower buds — you remember why, 1 hope?” “Yes; because next year we must have new twigs for the year after’s flowers to grow on.” “Very good; but of course there were a few new twigs last year, so there will be a few blossoms this year. Now go to sleep, for that is all I have to show you tonight.” FATHER’S STORY T HERE is one thing about that dear old apple tree the fairy has not told you, I think,” said father the next evening after Christobel had told the family about her visit as they were sitting in the firelight just before bedtime. Father, mother, Robert, Bennie, and Christobel were there, but little Sue was not. She had to have her bread 69 70 The Apple-Tree Sprite and milk and go to bed before supper every night, excepting Thanksgiving and Christ- mas and on her birthday. “Do tell us about it!” and the children gave their chairs a little hitch towards father. “ It happened long ago before any of you were born,” said father. “A boy was walking under the tree one day when it was in full bloom. He looked up into the flowers and one big bunch of them had turned into the loveliest fairy the boy had ever seen. Her skin wa: of apple blossoms, white and , /(r pink, and she wore a white dress 7 1 Father s Story with a pink sash, and had dear little slip- pers on her feet, and her eyes were as blue as the sky and as bright as the stars. She was so lovely that it made the boy’s heart beat fast, and he didn’t know whether to run away somewhere or stay where he was. Finally the fairy up in the tree spied him, and picked some apple blos- soms and threw them down at him, and he caught them and kissed them and — ” “Oh, Father!” interrupted mother, laughing and blushing. And how all the children laughed! They had heard that same story many times before, and it always ended that way — just at that point mother always said, “Oh, Father!” and father always stopped and would not go on. “It was mother up in the apple tree,” said Bennie. “Yes, mother was the fairy princess,” assented father. “And father,” said Robert, “was the fairy prince who came and carried her off out of the dragon’s den, for the tree was the dragon with its big coily limbs.” 7 2 The Apple-Tree Sprite “ There is another apple story; please tell that,” begged Christobel. “Yes, about the apples of Hesperides,” shouted Robert and Bennie in chorus. XVII THE APPLES OF HESPERIDES W ELL/’ said father, “this is how it was. You know the Gardens of the Hesperides, way off in the sunset sea, the most beautiful deep blue sea with a flaming sky over it? And the islands themselves — how can anyone tell how splendid they were! as green as emerald with the soft grass that covered them, and the grass was dotted with primroses and crocuses that bloomed all the time, and there were daisies and buttercups and forget-me-nots and rose bushes along the walks, and there were lilacs and — ” “Don't forget the — ” interrupted Robert. “ Now you wait," said father; “ I’m com- ing to that. Where was I? Oh, yes; lilacs and soft green bushes in one corner all covered with red and white flat pods, 73 74 The Apple-Tree Sprite and each red pod had in it a red peppermint drop, and each white pod a white pepper- mint drop.” “Um!” said Christobel, smacking her lips. “And there were other bushes,” said Bennie, prompting his father. “Yes,” went on father, “there were other bushes that bore — let me see — small, round, brown potatoes.” “No!” shrieked all the children at once, “chocolate drops; you said chocolate drops.” “Oh, yes,” agreed father, “chocolate drops, so it was. And currant bushes that bore candy kisses, and vines that climbed over the windows of the beautiful ivory and glass palace that stood in the midst, and the vines that climbed over the chil- dren’s window bore beautiful blue flowers and pink ones and white ones that smelled as sweet as possible, and when a good child picked a flower, if the good child was hun- gry, the flower turned into a luscious gum drop, or a big juicy plum, or even a currant The Apples of Hesperides 75 bun, but if a naughty child picked one, it crumbled into dry ashes that smelled like a sulphur match.” “Ugh!” groaned Christobel. “ But you may be sure,” went on father, “that the children in the beautiful palace were not often naughty. But the best part of the Island of Hesperides was the trees — such tall and elegant shapes as they had! There were tall palms that waved their great fronds all summer and kept the air cool, and other palms as beautiful as a dream that had great bunches of ripe dates on them all the time, but some had cocoa- nuts, and some bore little cans of guava jelly. And there were nut trees that bore peanuts — ” “Peanuts don’t grow on trees,” cried Bennie, holding up both hands in his eager- ness. “ But this is in the Island of the Hesper- ides, you know,” said his father seriously; “ great nut trees covered with nicely roasted peanuts, and others with salted almonds, and others with pecan candy bars, and 76 The Apple-Tree Sprite others with wreaths of gold and scarlet flowers. “ But the best of all were the apple trees. They were very tall, and their limbs were so broad and stretched out so long that you could get up and take a walk on them when it rained and you did not want to wet your little pink slippers. I mean, of course, when the children in the ivory palace wanted to take a walk without wetting their little pink slippers. And these apple trees had wonderful leaves made of silver fili- gree that was always bright, and the silver leaves were enameled with green enamel in the sweetest way. You never saw any- thing so grand and wonderful as these apple trees in the Garden of the Hesperides. And the apples themselves were of pure gold, and had magic powers at that. “You can imagine that everybody wanted to get some of these apples. But not everybody could get them, because the apple trees stood in the midst of an enchanted garden surrounded by an en- chanted hedge and guarded by dragons — The Apples of Hesperides 77 and dragons, you know, are always en- chanted.” “ Now come the heroes,” whispered Ben- nie, settling down with his chin on his fist. “Yes,” said father, “now come the heroes. But don’t you think bedtime has come along, too?” “No, father,” replied Bennie seriously, “you surely are mistaken. How impolite it would be to go and leave the heroes just as they arrive.” “Hm!” said father,. “I trust you will remain as polite as that when next you are requested to pick up chips for the wood- box.” Bennie’s eyes twinkled and father went on. “ Hercules, you know, had as one of his tasks getting some of the golden apples from the Garden of Hesperides. It was harder than other tasks because, besides getting them, he had to find out where they were kept.” “The queen of the gods had hidden them,” volunteered Christobel. “Yes,” added Robert, “Juno was queen 78 The Apple-Tree Sprite of the gods, and she hid the lovely gold apples that had been given to her on her wedding day by the goddess of the earth. She was afraid of losing them, I suppose.” “Go on, father,” said Bennie. “Hercules did not know where to hunt for them,” father went on. “ So he finally crossed over to Mount Atlas in Africa, where the great Titan named Atlas was holding the heavens up on his shoulders.” “He had to stand there and hold up the heavens day and night, year in and year out,” added Christobel, “because he had warred against the gods, and this was his punishment.” “Yes,” assented father, “and Atlas was the father of the nymphs who guarded the golden apples of Hesperides. So Hercules thought that if anybody could help him to get some of the apples, Atlas could. When he told what he wanted, Atlas, whose back ached with holding up the heavens, said he would gladly go to the lovely islands in the sunset sea if only he could get some- body to hold up his burden, but heavy as The Apples of Hesperides 79 it was he would not be willing to let go and have the heavens come crashing down and destroying everybody, himself included. Besides, he couldn’t leave if he wanted to, because if the heavens began to lean ever so little the gods would be after him, and no knowing what they would do next. It is better to endure the ills you have than fly to those you know not of, he said.” “ I thought Shakespeare said that,” com- mented Robert, who was in the highest class in school. “Yes, but couldn’t Atlas say it first?” demanded Bennie. “Go on, father.” “Well,” said father, “to make a long story short, Hercules offered to hold up the heavens for Atlas if he would go and get the apples. You may be sure Atlas was glad enough to shift his load to other shoul- ders, and when this was successfully done without loosening a single star or disar- ranging the moon, off went Atlas after the golden apples while poor Hercules had to stand like a statue holding up the heavens.” “Tell how Atlas got past the dragon, 80 The Apple-Tree Sprite and all the things he saw, and how he finally got the apples/' begged Christobel. “Yes, do!" eagerly added the boys, for the children were always anxious to lengthen the story as bedtime approached. “No," said father, “you know all that as well as I do. You know how Atlas went to visit his daughters, and what a beautiful time he had; how the dragons licked his hands just like pet dogs because he was the father of the lovely nymphs whose slaves they were; and how Atlas, when the time came to return, casually put a few golden apples in his pocket when the dragons were not looking, and took them to Hercules. Of course he did not want to take up his load again, any more than you want to go to bed, but circumstances made it neces- sary, just as circumstances now make it necessary for all of you to be off to bed — so good-night and happy dreams." XVIII MORE STORIES tlf I *HERE are other apple stories,” said A Christobel the next time they were sit- ting together about the fire. It was a snowy afternoon and each one had a big yellow apple to eat. They had all chosen bright yellow Pippins in honor of the golden apples of Hesperides. “Yes, there is the apple of discord,” said mother, looking up from her sewing basket. “Yes,” assented Christobel reluctantly, “we know too much about that. It got thrown in amongst us this morning when we all went to quarrelling over who should first have the new magazine.” “But the mythological story is much prettier!” declared Robert. “Tell it, Mummy.” “You know how it came about,” began 81 82 The Apple-Tree Sprite mother. “ Minerva, the goddess of wis- dom, Venus, the goddess of love, and Juno, queen of the gods, were once at a splendid wedding where all the gods and goddesses were invited excepting the goddess of dis- cord, who was so crabbed and ugly that no- body wanted her about. But she was very angry at not being invited, and came any- way, and, as generally happens when she is about, trouble began. When the guests were all enjoying themselves, and Hebe was passing about the delightful nectar in crystal cups, and everybody was taking a second slice of ambrosia, the ugly goddess of discord threw a golden apple among them with this inscription engraved on one side: 'For the fairest.’ 'This must be meant for me,’ said Venus, blushing. She had reason to think so, as she was called also the goddess of beauty. "'1/ said Juno, who had been greatly flattered by the gods, 'surely think it be- longs to me/ and then Minerva, the god- dess of wisdom, who showed herself any- thing but wise in this matter, put out her More Stories 83 hand and took the apple as if to look at it, and then hid it in her sleeve, saying, ‘ I am sure it was meant for me.’ “Upon this the blessed gods all took sides, so that it was necessary to get the matter decided. Jupiter, in his position as king, could have decided on the spot, but he did not want to, as you can well imagine, for by favoring one of them he would offend the two other lovely goddesses. So he told them to go to the beautiful shepherd Paris, who was watching his flocks on Mount Ida, and get him to decide. It seems that the three goddesses tried all they could to buy the favor of Paris, each promising him the best within her gift, if he would decide in her favor.” “ Minerva promised that he should be- come a great warrior and win deathless fame and glory,” said Christobel. “Juno promised jewels and gold and power over great nations,” added Bennie. “And Venus promised that he should have the most beautiful wife in all the world,” went on Robert, for they all knew 84 The Apple-Tree Sprite the story quite well, having heard it often before. “Yes,” said mother, “and you know who won, for of course Paris gave the apple to Venus, which was fair enough, for she was the goddess of beauty.” “But the others were offended,” said Bennie, “and made up their minds to pay Paris off for slighting them and giving the prize to Venus.” “Yes, go on, Bennie,” and mother smiled at him. “Well, Venus made Paris run away with Helen of Troy, who was the most beauti- ful woman in the world, and the conse- quence of that was the Trojan War which we read all about last winter.” “Yes, indeed; what a good time we had over that Trojan War,” and Robert laughed gleefully at the memory. XIX ATALANTA T HERE is another pretty apple story taken from mythology/’ saying which father settled down and the children gathered about him. “I mean the one about Atalanta.” “Yes, yes, tell us,” begged the children, all but little Sue who was too busy picking the seeds out of the core of her apple to bother about people so far distant as the old gods and goddesses. “She will listen when she is older,” said father, and began the story of Atalanta. “Atalanta was a beautiful huntress who rejected all suitors for her hand because an oracle had foretold that if she married, dire misfortune would befall her. As she was beautiful and high-born she had many suit- ors, and to escape them all she made a decree that she would wed the hero who 85 86 The Apple-Tree Sprite should win a footrace with her, but who- soever tried and failed should be put to death. You can imagine she was not troubled with many suitors after that! Still, occasionally some rash youth would try, and always met his fate because nobody could outrun Atalanta. But one day Hip- pomenes, the umpire, fell so in love with the beautiful huntress that he decided to try his own luck, although he had just watched some other youths defeated and condemned to death. “Well, never mind, he would try any- way. He was so in love that he felt he would die without her, so it would be more glorious to die trying to win her. “Atalanta felt very sorry that such a beautiful youth as Hippomenes should per- ish for her sake, yet, if he would, he would, and she could not help it. And so they started as fleet as the wind. But just as their feet left the ground, Hippomenes ad- dressed a prayer to Venus, the goddess of love, begging her to help him. “ Now, Venus was sitting in a lovely gar- Atalanta 87 den in the island of Cyprus when the prayer came. It was warm and sweet on this her own island, and behind her shone the ivory pillars of her temple. When the prayer came flying in like a breathless bird, she looked out over the sea where Hippomenes and Atalanta were just starting on the fate- ful race, and the heart of the goddess was moved with pity for the beautiful youth. So she reached up to a golden tree covered with golden apples, whose branches hung over her head, the leaves of pure gold shel- tering her from the golden rays of the sun. She gathered three apples wondrously beautiful and of pure gold and put them into Hippomenes’ hand and whispered to him how to use them. “Like two swift arrows, Hippomenes and Atalanta sped over the course. They seemed to fly or float along, so lightly did their feet touch the earth. Impelled by love, Hippomenes seemed in fair way to win, the onlookers cheered, and Atalanta herself half forgot her vow and almost hoped that he would win. 88 The Apple-Tree Sprite “ But the race was long and Hippomenes began to lose breath when, with a strong effort, he threw one of the golden apples right in front of Atalanta who, astonished at its beauty, stayed her steps a moment to pick it up. When she heard the uproar of the on-lookers and discovered that Hippo- menes had passed her in the race, she shot forward faster than ever and soon outdis- tanced him. But again he threw an apple, and again Atalanta picked it up. Thus it happened even at the third time, when they had almost reached the goal. Prompted by Venus, Atalanta could not help stopping just one second to secure the beautiful apple — and so Hippomenes won race and bride. And all by help of the golden apples out of the garden in Cyprus.” “But misfortune did overtake Atalanta just as the oracle had said,” added Bennie. “Yes,” assented father. “The lovers were so happy together that they forgot to render honor and thanks to Venus, who, growing indignant at their neglect, caused Cybele to change them into a lion and Atalanta 89 lioness. Cybele having done this, yoked them to her chariot, as you can see in any Greek mythology or other picture book of the old gods.” .“ Wasn’t Pomona the goddess of ap- ples? ” asked Bennie. “She was the goddess of fruits,” an- swered father, “and apple trees were among her choicest possessions, but she had also peaches and pears and grapes and other fruits in her orchards.” XX A NORTHERN APPLE STORY “X TEARLY all the stories we have had this 1 > winter belong to the Greek and Ro- man gods,” said Robert to his father one evening. “Yes,” was the reply, “and apples belong very specially to the cold north lands.” “Oh, yes,” added Robert, “and the Northmen had their apple stories, too, as pretty as any. Tell us the story of Idun, Father.” “Oh, please do, Father!” begged Chris- tobel and Bennie in a breath. So father went on with the story of Idun, who, as you of course know, was the beautiful Norse goddess of immortal youth. She was the daughter of the dwarf blacksmith Ivald, who lived in the bowels of the earth. But Idun was allowed to visit the earth 90 9i A Northern Apple Story from time to time, and wherever she passed leaves sprouted from the bare tree twigs, and grass and flowers sprang up under her feet. “ Idun was the personification of spring, you remember,” began father. “And she was married to the beautiful god of poetry and song,” added Bennie. “Yes, the god Bragi had a magical golden harp,” went on Robert, “and the music that came from it was so lovely that at the sound the trees began to bud and blossom, and flowers started up every- where in the grass.” “They lived with the rest of the gods at their home in Asgard, I remember that much,” said Christobel. “The Northern gods lived in Asgard, but the Greek gods lived — where? ” asked father. “On Mount Olympus,” promptly an- swered Robert. “Well,” continued father, “the gods and goddesses loved Idun for her beauty and gentleness, and also because of the mag- 92 The AppJe-Tree Sprite ical apples which she kept in a casket and which had the power of conferring youth and beauty upon whomever ate of them.” “Even the gods had to eat Idun’s apples to keep young,” put in Christobel. “Yes, and no matter how many she took out of her casket, just as many still re- mained in it. I should like to know what became of that casket,” said Robert, lift- ing little Sue up to his knee where she snuggled her golden head against his breast and listened to the story. “Everybody wanted the apples, and no wonder,” added Bennie. “Now, go on, Father, and we will keep still.” “Well,” said father, “one day Idun with her precious casket was stolen and carried off by a great eagle.” “It was Thiassi, the storm giant, who came in the shape of an eagle,” said Robert. “Yes,” added father, “and do you re- member how it happened? ” “It was all the fault of that wicked, mis- chievous Loki, who was always getting somebody in trouble,” said Bennie. A Northern Apple Story 93 “Yes,” assented father, “Loki and two of the gods were tired and hungry one day after having wandered about a long time on the earth. So they killed an ox and tried to cook it. But although the fire burned brightly the meat would not cook. They finally discovered that it was the fault of a great eagle who sat on a tree watch- ing them. Yes, he had used magic to keep the meat from cooking; that he admitted; but if they would give him all he could eat he would remove the spell. So they prom- ised, and soon the meat was beautifully roasted. Then the eagle demanded so much of it for his share that Loki in a rage began to beat him with a stick.” “Loki forgot that he was up against a past master in magic,” laughed Robert. “ But he was soon reminded,” added father, “for the stick stuck fast to the eagle and Loki could not for the life of him let go of his end of it.” “So off flew the eagle, stick, Loki, and all,” put in Bennie. “Yes,” said father, “off they went, and 94 The Apple-Tree Sprite Loki could not get free until he had made a solemn promise to bring Idun with her magic apples to where Thiassi, the great storm giant, could get possession of her and her fruit. Once free, Loki hastened back to Asgard and set about planning what he could do to keep his promise. At last, one day when the minstrel Bragi was away from home, Loki lured Idun outside of Asgard by telling her to come and see some apples he had found growing on a tree not far away, and that were just like her magic apples.” “What a goose Idun was!” exclaimed Christobel indignantly. “ It is a good thing she was,” said Robert slyly, “or there wouldn’t have been any story! Go on, Father.” “No sooner was Idun outside than Loki went off and left her, and Thiassi, the great storm giant, in the form of an eagle, swooped down and carried her off to his icy home in the northern mountains, where the winds moaned and the wolves howled. Idun,’ as you can imagine, was very un- A Northern Apple Story 95 happy. She pined for home and friends and became cold and pale.” “Thiassi’s home was in the Land of Winter,” said Robert, “and he kept Idun until it was time for spring to come again.” “ But she wouldn’t give Thiassi the least little taste of her apples,” said Christobel, “ and I am glad of it. The cruel old giant wanted to become young and beautiful, but she wouldn’t give him so much as a taste.” “Yes, winter wanted to change into spring,” chimed in Robert, “and I don’t blame him.” “At last the gods made Loki go and fetch Idun and her apples back,” said Bennie. “That was a trip the old rascal didn’t care for,” chuckled Robert, “but it wasn’t so hard after all, because he borrowed the goddess Freya’s falcon plumes to help him.” “No sooner had he put them on than he turned into a strong-winged falcon,” added Bennie. “He snatched Idun up in his talons and 96 The Apple-Tree Sprite changed her into a nut,” went on father, “ and so flew home to Asgard with her.” “The gods were glad to get her back and have some of her apples for dessert,” said Christobel, “for they were getting to look quite old and wrinkled.” “I can tell you something about that story,” said Robert; “it is a nature myth. Idun represents spring. She is carried away into the cold winter and stays until the earth looks quite old and spent. Then she comes back and the flowers bloom and youth returns to the earth. The nut is a seed and represents fruitfulness.” “It is a pretty story, anyway,” said Bennie. “The apple,” added father, “was an emblem of fruitfulness with Northern peoples.” “ I know where the magic apples grew,” said Christobel. “They grew on the tree of life; the Norns watched over them and allowed no one but Idun ever to pick them.” XXI OTHER APPLES ^r-pHERE are a great many kinds of ap- 1 pies,” said Robert gaily, “magic apples and gold apples and apples of Sodom — ” “That look so beautiful on the tree,” interrupted Bennie, “but turn to dust and ashes when you eat them.” “And there is the apple of your eye,” put in Robert mischievously. “Father, how did the eyeball come to be called the apple of the eye? ” “ Doubtless because of its shape,” replied father; “and, because it is something we value very highly, people finally spoke of a very precious possession as the apple of the owner's eye. A greatly loved son is sometimes spoken of as the apple of his father's eye.” At this Robert winked at Christobel, and tapped his own chest, and she laughed and 97 98 The Apple-Tree Sprite whispered, “You conceited old goose,” then said aloud, “ And there are the apples of the garden of Eden. They grew on the tree of knowledge from which Eve ate and gave some of the apples to Adam, in pun- ishment for which they were both turned out to wander over the earth.” “The Bible doesn’t say they were ap- ples,” said father. “But the ‘fruit’ must have been because it was so tempting,” cried Christobel. “And there are May apples which are not apples at all,” added Bennie, “and people used to call tomatoes love apples, and grow them in their flower gardens as curiosities.” “Yes, and there are winter apples,” said Robert, jumping up and dancing about the room. “Let’s have some. We have talked enough about false apples, and my teeth are just aching to get into a real one,” and he clattered down cellar with a pan to see what he could find. XXII SPRING COMES AGAIN Y OU may be sure that when spring be- gan to trail her fresh green robes over the earth, Christobel was on hand to watch the apple tree. “I should like,” she thought one warm day as she reclined in her old seat in the crotch, “I should like to see just how the apple blossoms are made.” “Shut up your eyes tight, then,” said a familiar voice, and as Christobel did so there sat the little old woman looking very little and old and tired because she had just .spent such a long winter doing next to nothing. Even her cheeks looked a little withered and were pale pink instead of bright red. “You look tired and not very well,” said Christobel; “I am afraid it will tire you to talk to me.” 99 IOO The Apple-Tree Sprite “Goodness, child!” and the little old woman began to laugh, “something to do is just what I need. It tires you out much faster to do too little, I can tell you, than to do too much. Even people who do too little grow old inside and out. Now I never grow old inside, for I can always look ahead and see plenty of lovely work coming, but I can’t help getting old and shrivelled out- side. However, that is neither here nor there. Spring has come with her gold and diamonds, and I am beginning to feel bet- ter already, for you know I work all sum- mer with gold and diamonds — such pretty work!” and the little old woman really began to grow young and pretty again, right under Christobel’s eyes. “I suppose your gold is what we call sunshine, and your diamonds are raindrops and dewdrops,” ventured Christobel. “I suppose so, too,” merrily answered the Sprite; “but, let me tell you, this gold and these diamonds are a million times bet- ter than hard gold and diamonds to those who know how to use them. In short, you IOI Spring Comes Again might have all the gold and diamonds that are buried away in all the caverns of the earth, and you would soon perish and die were it not for my kind of gold and dia- monds. But now watch !” and the fairy took a sunbeam and a dewdrop in her tiny fingers and twined them together with a little sap from the tree and made exquisite little cells out of which she built up the petals of an apple blossom. How her fin- gers flew! all of them at once, and the thumbs, too, for at the same time that she was making the petals she had also to weave together the pistil with its little ovules, and the stamens with their anthers full of pollen dust. “See,” she said, “now you must look through a fairy microscope; or no, I will change your eyes so you can see; that will be better,” and she touched Christobel’s eyes and they began to see quite clearly the smallest things, just as if each apple blossom cell had been an inch long. “My, how lovely!” cried Christobel. “Lovely!” echoed the fairy, and began 102 The Apple-Tree Sprite to laugh so merrily and so prettily and so heartily that Christobel began to laugh, too. But even while laughing the fairy was not idle, but kept all her fingers flashing as quick as lightning among the apple blos- som cells that she kept dividing and en- larging and dividing and enlarging and al- ways filling full of fresh new sap so as to have it handy to weave in with .the sun- beams and raindrops. “ Wouldn’t it be easier to make the cells the right size at first, instead of unmaking them and making them over again all the time?” asked Christobel. “You don't understand," said the fairy; “the apple blossoms are growing; that is the way it has to be. I cannot get enough sap to do it all at once, even if 1 could do it that way. Besides, whatever is worth doing at all is worth doing well, and if I could make an apple blossom in a minute I dare say it would be a flimsy affair not worth looking at; then nobody would really value it. Besides, from such a flower, how could one possibly build up a good apple Spring Comes Again 103 with a tough core and perfect seeds? No, slow and sure’s the rule for me,” and the dainty Sprite continued to twinkle in among the tiny cells with her wonderful weaving. And Christobel, looking, saw her fashion the tiny core with the tiny ovules in it, all of which was not so tiny to her, you under- stand, because of the new kind of eyesight the fairy had bestowed upon her. XXIII WHAT IS A FLOWER? 1 SEE,” said Christobel, after watching intently for a few minutes as the soft little core grew and began to harden under the fairy’s touch, and the tiny ovules took shape within it; “I see now just how it it is: The ripe apple is really the seed pod; it is the grown up and finished cradle; but now it is just part of the flower.” “What is a flower, anyway? ” asked the fairy, with a merry twinkle in her bright little eyes. “Oh,” said Christobel, promptly, “it is something pretty to look at, and sweet to smell of, that folds about the little seed cradle.” The fairy laughed gaily and kept on working. “What am I making?” she asked at last. 104 What Is a Flower? 105 “You are making five little knobs on top of the seed pod/’ said Christobel, promptly, then added, “ I believe they are the sticky stigmas, only they are not sticky yet; but they will be sticky, won’t they? ” “ Of course,” laughed the Sprite ; “ when the time comes they will be sticky enough. Otherwise how could the pollen grains stick to them? ” “And you are making stamens, too!” exclaimed Christobel. “I know they are stamens. I see the little stems with the anther boxes on top, and oh, such crowds of tiny pollen grains inside the anther boxes! I wonder why you make so many stamens.” “1 don’t know why,” said the Sprite; “that is the secret of the apple blossom — five petals it wants and five calyx lobes and five cradle cells and five stigmas, but there the demand for five stops short, and there must be a great number of stamens. That is the way with apple blossoms. And now, My Dear, I will tell you what a flower is, and don’t you forget it. A flower is the 106 The Apple-Tree Sprite lovely cradle of life. It is the young ovules in the pod and the magic pollen that helps to make the seeds. It is these precious things, ovules and pollen, all safely tucked away, and wrapped up in the tender, fra- grant petals until the time for unfolding comes. That is a flower, My Dear.” As the fairy worked away, Christobel noticed that the petals were very small and wrapped closely about each other and all enclosed in the hard green calyx lobes. As they became larger under her magic fingers they were still kept carefully wrapped to- gether until they were full grown and peeped out from the calyx lobes all sweetly flushed with pmk. “You have made buds!” exclaimed Christobel at last. “Yes, they are flower buds,” assented the fairy. “You see, the ovules and the pollen are not quite ready, and I must keep them all nicely covered up. When pollen and ovules are ripe and ready — Oh, you will see something then! — but maybe you are tired; maybe you have seen enough? ” What Is a Flower? 107 “ Oh, dear ! ” cried Christobel. “ No, no, go on! ” “Very well,” said the fairy; “it is for- tunate you feel as you do, for you are now about to see the loveliest thing in all the world, at least so I think. Did you ever see a bud unfold into a flower?” “ I never did,” said Christobel. “ Well, now look,” and the fairy breathed upon a pink bud, in a cluster of other buds. Softly she breathed, then very slowly the bud began to move; it swelled a little and a little more, and then the tops of the petals opened and showed the yellow stamens and the pearly chalice in which they lay. The young flower trembled a little, then the anther cells opened. A cloud of finest dust was caught up by the breeze, a cloud of finest dust that danced in the sunbeams playing about the flower. The air was sud- denly filled with fragrance, golden light flooded the earth, and Christobel thought she heard music trembling in the air. She looked at the flower with breathless delight while the fairy watched her with 108 The Apple-Tree Sprite shining eyes. “You have seen a wonder- ful thing,” she said; “you have seen a flower open. Remember how sweet it is, Oh child! You, too, will blossom like a flower one day. Keep sweet and pure, Oh human flower of the blessed earth, keep out the canker worms, keep the ugly, slimy snails away, shut out the loathesome worms and bugs, shut out all evil thoughts and base desires, keep your heart as lovely as the heart of this perfect flower!” Then suddenly changing her tone she said: “How my bright pollen dances in the sunshine! there is enough of it, and it is good, for it is truly made.” XXIV THE COMING OF THE BEES N OW that pollen must fly to the sticky stigma and stay there,” said Christobel. “Yes, some grains must fall upon the ready stigma. Do you know what happens then?” “Tell me!” begged Christobel. “It is the most wonderful part of the story,” said the Sprite. “The living part of the pollen grain finds its way down to the sleeping ovule. They unite together, and then begin to grow into the perfect apple seed.” “ The ovule couldn’t grow into a seed without the pollen,” said Christobel. “ No, and the pollen could not grow with- out the ovule. They depend upon each other. But when they unite — Oh, then the apple begins to grow ! The seed forms and the apple grows.” 109 I IO The Apple-Tree Sprite “ Wouldn’t the apple go on and grow anyway? ” “No, indeed; unless the seeds develop the apple cannot grow. If the pollen grains cannot reach the ovules in the flower, then all must perish. And, do the best I can, it sometimes happens that pollen grain and ovule do not meet. Sometimes there comes a heavy rainstorm just when I have opened all the apple blossoms, and the rain washes away the pollen so that it is quite lost, and then there are no apples, even if it happens to be apple year.” “How trying!” exclaimed Christobel. “You may well say so,” went on the fairy. “Yes, trying it certainly is. But if wind comes without rain, that is the best thing that could happen, for the dry pollen is then blown about and covers the sticky stigmas, and that is what is needed.” “But what about the bees?” asked Christobel. “I thought they carried the pollen? ” “They do their best,” said the fairy, “ but I tell you, a hard rain spoils it. Pollen 1 1 1 The Coming of the Bees? is good only a little while, you know.” “No, I didn’t know it,” said Christobel. “Well, it’s the truth,” replied the fairy. “ And sometimes there is a cold, still time, when the insects stay at home, and the wind does not help. If this lasts long enough when the apple blossoms are ready, why, they do not get the pollen in time, and again — no apples.” “ Can you not put the pollen on yourself? ” The fairy shook her head a little sadly as she answered, “No, I can only make things. 1 can do nothing with them after they are once made. I can make the ovules and the pollen, but I cannot move the pol- len — that right belongs elsewhere.” “You are not a perfect fairy, then,” said Christobel, not meaning to be unkind, but only so interested to know. “No,” said the fairy, brightening up; “I am not, but you see no one is perfect. No one can do everything without help. It would be a very stupid world if everybody could do everything. You see, life is just 1 1 2 The Apple-Tree Sprite like this apple blossom — every part of it has to be woven together. But it takes a great many weavers, all working in and out with each other, and that is why it is so beautiful. The sun has to weave the golden heat rays; the sea has to supply the clouds with rain, and moisture for the air, and dew for the thirsty earth; the wind and the insects have to carry the pollen; your father has to protect the roots and leaves from destructive insects. Yes, indeed, many must work together to complete anything in the world.” “Yes,” said Christobel, “father has to gather the apples, the hired man has to press out the cider, the cook has to peel the apples, mother has to make the pies and apple sauce — oh, dear me, it is all a golden network, just like that beautiful network your fingers are making the apple blossom out of.” “Yes,” said the fairy, “life is a golden network woven by many weavers. No one can do everything alone by himself. That is why it is so beautiful,” SUMMER EVENINGS T HE Sprite told Christobel a great many lovely stories that springtime, and Christobel told them over again when the family were sitting together on the porch after supper. “ It pays to go to sleep in the apple tree,” said Robert, slyly, but as it always offended Christobel to have this said, he did not say it very often, because when she was of- fended she would not tell any more stories that night. “ It doesn’t matter anyway,” said mother to comfort her; “fairies are just as able to come when we are asleep as at any other time.” “1 believe they are more apt to,” said father, with a twinkle in his eye. 1 13 1 14 The Apple-Tree Sprite “ It is strange that pollen dust can decide what kind of apple is to grow,” said Bennie, the peacemaker. “The pollen grains are so very small.” “Oh!” exclaimed Christobel, forgetting to be offended, “size doesn’t count. The Apple-Tree Sprite says size doesn’t count at all. A pollen grain is all marked and carved in the loveliest manner, although it is so little you can scarcely see it without a microscope. But if you were the size of a pollen grain, it would seem very large, and you could see, oh, so much in it that you can’t see at all now. The markings that we see with the microscope would then look quite coarse, and no doubt there would be finer lines and spots that we can’t begin to see now.” “ It seems to me I have heard father say something very much like that,” began Robert teasingly, but father interrupted by saying to Bennie, “You were not quite right, my boy, when you said the pollen decided what kind of apple it was to be.” Summer Evenings “5 “ Pippin pollen makes pippin apples,” said Bennie, triumphantly, then he laughed. “I was almost forgetting about the ovule; that of course has a word to say, too.” “I should think so!” exclaimed Chris- tobel. “ If the ovule of a pippin receives pippin pollen, then, ho for pippin apples!” sang out Robert. “But if the ovule of a pippin apple re- ceives winesap pollen, then what? ” Bennie put in. “That,” said father, laughing, “would depend upon whether the pollen or the ovule succeeded in impressing itself most strongly upon the growing seed, and upon whether the pippin flower did not reject the winesap pollen entirely in order to receive pippin pollen. It is not often one finds any but pippin apples on a pippin tree, no matter how industriously the bees may bring pollen from other varieties of apple trees.” “Plants inherit from the pollen just as much as from the seeds — didn’t the fairy 1 1 6 The Apple-Tree Sprite tell you that?” asked Robert, tossing a clover blossom at Christobel. “No, Mister Robert!” exclaimed Chris- tobel, triumphantly; “The fairy didn’t tell me any such nonsense as that. She told me that the plant inherits from the pollen just the same as from the ovule!” “ Bravo, Christobel! ” cried father, laugh- ing and clapping his hands. “You caught him that time.” “I don’t quite understand,” said Bennie. “Can you explain it?” asked father, turning to Christobel. “Why, yes, I think so. The ovule isn’t exactly a seed. It is the little soft begin- ning of a seed. It cannot develop into a seed until a pollen grain unites with it. But when the pollen grain joins the ovule, then it begins to grow into a seed — isn’t that right? ” “Yes, that is quite right. And when the seed is once formed, the fate of the ovule is sealed. The pollen cannot again affect it. It is only the ovule that can be fer- tilized by the pollen. You remember,” Summer Evenings 117 added father, turning to Christobel, “that the union of a pollen grain with an ovule is called 'fertilization.’ ” “The pollen fertilizes the ovule, and the ovule is fertilized by the pollen,” said Bennie. “Just so,” agreed father. XXVI THE IDEA OF THE TREE HE fairy showed me just how the A ovule is fertilized, ” said Christobel, casting a defiant look at Robert. “ It seemed just as if there was a little tree made out of mist in each little ovule. The fairy called it the idea of a tree.” “ Father said — ” began Robert, but father’s hand suddenly put over his mouth smothered the rest of the speech, whatever it was. “Go on, Christobel,” said father, and she continued. “The little mist tree was exactly like the mother tree, the same bark, the same leaves, the same apples, with the same color and flavor and shape. Only this little mist tree could not grow at all until a pollen grain came and joined it, and each little pollen grain had a little mist tree in it, and the mist tree was just like the tree the pol- The Idea of the Tree 119 len came from, it remembered everything. But the pollen tree couldn’t grow either, not until it flew to the sticky stigma and found its way down to the little ovule. When this happened and the pollen grain and the ovule became one — why, then a little plant began to grow, and it grew and grew until it became a seed. Then it rested awhile until it was ripe. Then it fell on the ground and went on growing and grow- ing and growing until it became an apple tree.” “Phew! what a long speech!” ex- claimed Robert, with a roguish laugh. “There is more to it, you old tease,” went on Christobel. “The new apple tree that grew from the seed was just like the tree the ovule and the pollen came from. They both grew in the blossoms of a pippin apple, and so the new tree was a pippin.” “ Pippin flowers take pippin pollen best,” said Bennie, laying his arm across Robert’s shoulder. “ But you could keep the pippin pollen away by covering the flower,” said Christo- 120 The Apple-Tree Sprite bel, “and yourself putting on pollen from a red apple. Then the spirit in the ovule of the pippin apple might share with the spirit in the pollen of the red apple, and we might get a fine new apple.” “Yes, but the fairy didn’t need to tell you that,” said Robert, making a funny face at Christobel. “Father has said it, besides it is all printed out in your botany book.” “ But the fairy showed me,” insisted Christobel. “ I saw with my eyes just how it was done. When stranger pollen came to the little ovule in the flower, then the apple began to grow, and sometimes the stranger pollen gave up its rights and the apple was just like the other apples on the tree. But sometimes the stranger pollen got the little ovule to give up all its rights and grow into an apple tree just like the tree the pollen came from. And sometimes both shared together and the apple was partly like the other apples on the tree, and partly like the apples on the tree the pollen came from. The fairy showed me a The Idea of the Tree 121 streaked apple that she said had come from the union of pollen from a red apple with the ovule of a yellow one.” “It is what we call inheritance,” said father. “ Apples inherit their shape and color and size and flavor from the ovules in the blossoms of the tree they grow on. But they also inherit through the pollen, so if you fertilize the ovule of one kind of tree with the pollen of another you may get a new apple, or you may not — all depends upon which inheritance is stronger.” “The ovule is the mother part of the plant,” said Christobel. “Inheritance can be good or bad,” said Bennie, “and we ought always to pick out 122 The Apple-Tree Sprite everything. To have good offspring we 'must have good parents.” “ It is true of animals, too,” said Robert. “Yes, and even of people,” added father. “A good inheritance of health and intelli- gence is the richest gift that parents can bestow upon their children. It is far better than lands and money.” “A little of those thrown in, for me!” said Robert, mischievously. “You shall have all the land you will take care of,” said father, heartily. care for them,” said' father; “and right away you might go and pull off the sprouts that have started out below the graft on that young tree I showed you this morning, and that long sucker that has shot up from the roots.” “ What harm do they do ? ” asked Chris- tobel. “I should think they would grow and make the tree bigger.” 123 124 Th e Apple-Tree Sprite “ Not the sucker,” said Bennie. “ If you let suckers grow you get a lot of bushy twigs that do not bear apples, but do take the sap-food from the rest of the tree.” “And the sprouts,” added father, “that grow out below the graft will grow into big limbs and bear apples, but the apples will be nothing but wild apples like those the tree bore before it was grafted. The good apples grow only on the grafted limbs.” “The fairy hasn’t explained grafts,” said Christobel. “1 do not understand very much about them.” “ Why,” said Robert, “ let me be the fairy and I will make it all as plain as day, now see if I don’t. You take a good healthy young tree that bears poor fruit and cut off all its limbs rather close to the main trunk. And into the cut ends, just under the bark, you plant a live twig with leaf buds on it from some apple tree that bears splendid apples. You cover the cut place with wax to keep the sap from running out. The transplanted twig grows just as if it were Christobel’s Decision 125 on its own tree, and it bears the same kind of apples as the tree it came from.” “Very well told,” said father. “That seems strange to me,” said Ben- nie. “I should think it would bear wild apples like the tree it was grafted to. It gets sap out of the roots of that tree.” “Very true,” said father, “but sap, you know, is only food. When a rabbit eats turnips, it changes them in its body into rabbit tissues. But when a boy eats tur- nips, they become boy. It all depends, you see, upon who does the work of transform- ing the food. Your graft knows how to make a certain kind of apple, and that it makes, no matter who supplies the food.” “ It is a good thing it always remembers,” said Robert. “ I should think so,” agreed father. “We should have poor orchards indeed if we could not graft the trees, for it is only once in a while that we get good fruit from a seedling tree; but if we succeed in getting just one good tree — why, then, we can have thousands just like it in a few years 126 The Apple-Tree Sprite by grafting its buds into trees that bear common apples.” “ Do the grafts always bear just the same apples as they did before they were put into the new tree ? ” asked Robert. “ It seems to me I have heard something different about that.” “ Perhaps not always,” answered father, “but often enough to make grafting, or budding, the best and surest way to get the apple you want.” “ Budding is about the same as grafting, isn’t it?” asked Bennie. “Yes, only you plant one leaf bud into the tree limb instead of a whole twig.” “Why not plant good apple seeds to start with?” asked Bennie. “I should think that would be easier than grafting after the trees are partly grown.” “The trouble is,” said father, “it is very hard to get apple trees to bear apples like those from which the seeds are taken; if you plant pippin seeds, for instance, the trees that come from them may bear sour wild apples.” ChristobeT s Decision 12 7 “Oh, ho!” said Robert, pulling Christo- bel’s pigtail; “what has become of inher- itance now? ” “Well,” said father, “it is just because of inheritance that this is so. Inheritance is very deep seated, and it takes a good many generations sometimes to change a habit and to ‘fix/ as we say, a new habit. Your seed inherits, that is true; but it is more apt to transmit an old inheritance than a new one. You might get one tree that inherited the idea of a good apple out of a great many seeds that you planted. Then, if you took seeds from the apples of that good tree and planted them, you might get a number of good trees, as well as many poor ones. And so, if you kept on for a good many generations planting the seeds from those trees that inherited the idea of good fruit, in course of time all the seeds, or nearly all, would have the good-apple habit fixed, so they would grow into the kind of tree you wanted.” “ But why don’t we? ” asked Robert. 128 The Apple-Tree Sprite “I guess it would take too long,” said Bennie. “Just the point,” assented father. “If you planted your apple seeds today from the best pippin tree, it would be several years before the young trees bore fruit, and then suppose none of them bore the kind of fruit you wanted, or suppose one or two did, then all the rest of the trees would have to be dug up, and all the time and care you had lavished on them would be wasted. And so it would go, and you would be old before you got a tree whose seeds always grew into good apple trees, if you suc- ceeded in getting one at all. No, it is easier, and better, to take a good, strong young tree and graft it — then you can have a whole orchard of good trees in a few years.” “That is the way I am going to start,” said Robert. “ But with quick-growing plants it is dif- ferent,” said Bennie. “Yes, indeed,” replied father; “you can afford to plant an acre of peas every year until you get the kind of pea you want fixed so that always come true; but it is a different story to put out a apple orchard few years with hope of getting good trees.” “ But isn’t there a quicker way?” suddenly asked Robert. “It seems to me I have read something about planting a whole young tree, instead of a graft, in another tree.”' “You should have read it more care- fully,” said father. “But it is true that experiments are being made that shorten up the time a great deal. You can plant a seedling tree in another tree and get fruit from it in a year or two; but even that is slow compared to planting a gardenful of peas. But you can try it.” “ I am going to,” said Robert, decidedly, “just for the fun of it.” 130 The Apple-Tree Sprite “So am I,” added Bennie. “And when I get a fine new apple, then I shall take buds from it and put them in all the trees 1 have that bear poor fruit.” “What will you call your fine new apple?” asked Christobel. “ He will call it the Robertus,” said Rob- ert, loftily. “Not a bit of it,” protested Christobel; “ he will call it after somebody else, won’t you, Bennie? ” “Perhaps,” said Bennie, laughing, “I will call it the Christorobertus.” AA V 111 ^ WHERE OUR APPLES CAME FROM ID our apples come from Europe, in the first place? ” asked Robert. ‘Yes,” said father, “it is prob- able that the apples we have today were developed from the wild crab of Europe. That happened long before the discovery of America. The early settlers brought young apple trees and grafts and started orchards in the New World. In- deed, t apples are said to have been intro- 132 The Apple-Tree Sprite duced into America from England in 1629, by the Governor of Massachusetts Bay. But since then a good many new apples have been developed in America from that first old English stock. Some of the best apples in the world are now grown here. The apple tree liked the northern part of America quite as much as the people liked it, and in time there arose fine new apples. One of these, the Newtown Pippin, is one of the very finest apples in the whole world. " “The Baldwin is an American apple, isn't it, father?" asked Bennie. “Yes, and so is the Spitzenberg, and a number of other fine apples." “ But we have wild apples, haven’t we? " asked Christobel; “those over on the edge of the pasture that make such good cider." Father shook his head. “No, little daughter, those are not natives. They have come from the seeds of cultivated apples that were dropped there, and that sprouted and grew into trees without cultivating or grafting. But there are wild crab apples in America which it might be possible to de- Where Our Apples Came From 133 velop into fine apples, only nobody has taken the time and trouble to do it.” “ I saw wild crabs when I went West with Uncle John last year,” said Robert. “The trees were covered with deep pink blossoms, oh, so fragant ! Why, they were as sweet-scented as English violets.” “Yes,” said Christobel, “you sent a box- ful home to mother, and they dried up and smelled sweet all winter.” “Some people believe that the blood of the wild crab is in some of our good, spicy American apples,” said father. “It may have happened that the pollen of the crab fertilized the ovule of some orchard tree. Then from the seed of that apple may have grown a tree that bore a new, spicy apple.” “There are a great many kinds of ap- ples,” said Bennie. “Yes,” agreed father, “and they are changing all the time. Every few years you hear of some fine, new apple. And grad- ually the old apples seem to disappear, and give way to the new. I have noticed that in my lifetime.” 134 The Apple-Tree Sprite “ I am glad apples have got into stories,” said Christobel. “Yes,” added father, “there are a good many apple stories in different parts of the world. The apple has always been a favor- ite. It was a symbol of fertility in ancient Britain, and the apple tree was reverenced by the old Druids because the sacred mistle- toe so often grew on its boughs. I have read that even to this day the people in some parts of England salute the apple trees to encourage them to bear a full crop.” “ How do they do it? ” asked Bennie. “It is an ancient custom,” answered father. “The farmers use fitting incanta- tions, and pour the contents of a wassail bowl about the roots, then farmers and men dance around the tree in a circle, singing a toast to the tree like the following: Here’s to thee, old apple tree. Whence thou mayst bud and whence thou mayst blow; And whence thou mayst bear apples enow. Hats full! caps full! Bushels and sacksful! Huzza! Where Our Apples Came From 135 “How jolly!” cried Robert. “ What is a wassail bowl ? ” asked Chris- tobel. “It is the bowl out of which people in olden times drank toasts to each other,” answered Robert. “ I thought people ate toast, not drank it,” said Christobel; at which Robert began to laugh, but father stopped him, saying, “Not so fast, my son, perhaps you really know as little about these toasts as Chris- tobel. Do you know why they are called toasts? ” “No, I don’t,” laughed Robert, pulling Christobel’s apron string and looking a little ashamed. “Shall I laugh at you?” asked father. “No, father,” said Robert, roguishly, “don’t laugh, but take pity on a poor igno- ramus, and enlighten his ignorance.” At this father and all the rest of them had a good laugh, and then father began to tell about the wassail bowl. “We know something about it from the name,” he said. ‘Wassail’ is a very old word mean- 136 The Apple-Tree Sprite ing ‘be whole,’ ‘be well.’ People used to use it as a salutation, as we today say ‘ fare- well.’ The ancient Britons used this salu- tation when they offered the drinking cup to a guest. Just as the people of today sometimes say ‘ Here’s to your health,’ when drinking together. From this, -wassailing came finally to mean drinking a health. And the drink in those ancient times was not wine, because grapes did not grow abundantly in Britain.” “Perhaps they drank cider,” said Chris- tobel. “Yes, they drank cider sometimes, and sometimes ale sweetened and spiced and flavored with' fruits. And on Christmas eve they drank to the health of the apple trees.” “Oh, how pretty!” cried Christobel. “ But the toast,” reminded Robert. “ I am coming to that,” said father. “ It was the custom in those old times to put a piece of toasted bread in the bottom of the wassail bowl, no doubt to give flavor to the drink, and somehow the name of the Where Our Apples Came From 137 toast replaced that of the wassail in drink- ing a health; so, instead of drinking a was- sail to a friend, they drank a toast, as we do today.” “How odd,” said Robert. “I wonder how it came about.” “Nobody knows,” said father, “though there are various explanations. But. we do know that it was customary to pass the wassail bowl about at Yuletide, which you know is Christmas time, and on Christmas, as 1 said, they wassailed the apple trees.” “What jolly things apples are!” sud- denly exclaimed Bennie. “When we find out about them we learn history and mythology and about different countries and languages, and get so many pretty stories.” “Yes,” said father, “that is true, and it is true of everything else as well. You cannot really learn about any ,one thing without learning about a great many other things. Nothing stands alone.” “That is exactly what the Apple-Tree Sprite told me!” exclaimed Christobel. 138 The Apple-Tree Sprite “ Everything is woven together with every- thing else. She said that if you really knew all there was to know about one thing you would have to know about everything else in the whole world. It is all a shining network.” FUN AND FACT <