cheery kitchen of grandma's old home.
"You sure have good apples in your orchard," I said to Uncle Roy. "Are the trees as old as you are?"
"Some of them are," he replied. "We've added trees over the years, but the original ones are still out there. When your grandma was little, she liked the apples from the Gibbs's orchard better than ours." Uncle Roy looked sideways at grandma and chuckled.
"Why, grandma? What made the Gibbs's apples so good?"
"I especially liked winesap apples," grandma explained. "And we didn't have any then. Now what made you think of that?" she asked Uncle Roy.
"I don't know," he laughed. "I guess maybe thinking about original trees. He had some of the oldest ones around."
I looked at grandma, eager for the story I knew was sure to follow.
"I suppose you want to hear about those special apples, don't you?" grandma asked me. I nodded eagerly, and she began....
The Gibbs's farm was between our house and Sarah Jane's. We passed it every day as we visited each other. The apple orchard bordered the road. In late fall the trees were loaded with beautiful red apples.
Mr. Gibbs didn't care how many apples we picked up from the ground. So we would often fill our pinafores with the windfalls—apples that had been blown off the trees—and munch on them while we played. One day I brought home the extra ones and put them on the table.
"I saved enough for you to make a pie or a cobbler," I told ma. "Wouldn't you like to do that?"
"I might," she replied, "If there were someone who wanted to peel them and get them ready."
"I will. I don't mind doing it at all. These sure are good apples."
"How many have you eaten already?" ma asked me.
"Oh, only five or six," I replied. "Not very many. And they're small."
"They eat that many every time they pass the orchard," Roy put in. "Don't forget, Mabel, if you swallow the seeds, you'll have apple trees growing out your ears."
"Why, Roy!" ma exclaimed. "What an outlandish thing to tell your sister. You know that isn't so."
"I was just teasing, ma. Mabel doesn't believe it."
"You shouldn't say it if you don't want me to believe it," I said primly. "You might say something you do want me to believe, and I won't."
"All right, Mabel. It won't be necessary to preach a sermon. Get started on the apples, please."
A few days later, Sarah Jane stopped by the house after school. "Can Mabel come home to supper with me? We have lots of studying to do.
"Does your mother know you're asking her?" ma inquired.
"Yes, she said I could. Caleb and I will walk her home. Is it all right?"
"I guess so," ma replied. "Be sure you take care of your studying before you play." "Yes, ma'am," we replied. "We will."
On the way to Sarah Jane's, we stopped at the Gibbs's orchard.
"Some of these apples hit the ground pretty hard," Sarah Jane commented. "We'll have to eat around the bruises."
"It would be nice to have a whole apple straight from the tree, wouldn't it?" I said. "Of course, I'd rather have the windfalls than nothing."
Sarah Jane agreed, and we each picked up several. "I'd like to be around when that one falls," she said, and pointed to a dark red apple, about halfway up the tree. "Wouldn't that be a good one to take to Miss Gibson?"
Miss Gibson was a most beloved teacher. As we gazed at the apple we could imagine her delight at receiving it. She would undoubtedly hug us as she thanked us for it.
"Maybe if I just leaned on the tree a little, it would come down," I suggested. "Then you could catch it."
But my weight didn't budge that tree one bit. The apple hung solidly on its branch.
"Well," Sarah Jane sighed, "come on. Let's go home. We'll keep an eye on that one. Miss Gibson really would like it."
We watched that apple daily, making a special trip after school to stand under the tree and look at it longingly.
"I think it's going to spend the winter there," I said toward the end of the week. "Whatever is taking it so long to fall?"
"Tomorrow's Friday. If it isn't
"You sure have good apples in your orchard," I said to Uncle Roy. "Are the trees as old as you are?"
"Some of them are," he replied. "We've added trees over the years, but the original ones are still out there. When your grandma was little, she liked the apples from the Gibbs's orchard better than ours." Uncle Roy looked sideways at grandma and chuckled.
"Why, grandma? What made the Gibbs's apples so good?"
"I especially liked winesap apples," grandma explained. "And we didn't have any then. Now what made you think of that?" she asked Uncle Roy.
"I don't know," he laughed. "I guess maybe thinking about original trees. He had some of the oldest ones around."
I looked at grandma, eager for the story I knew was sure to follow.
"I suppose you want to hear about those special apples, don't you?" grandma asked me. I nodded eagerly, and she began....
The Gibbs's farm was between our house and Sarah Jane's. We passed it every day as we visited each other. The apple orchard bordered the road. In late fall the trees were loaded with beautiful red apples.
Mr. Gibbs didn't care how many apples we picked up from the ground. So we would often fill our pinafores with the windfalls—apples that had been blown off the trees—and munch on them while we played. One day I brought home the extra ones and put them on the table.
"I saved enough for you to make a pie or a cobbler," I told ma. "Wouldn't you like to do that?"
"I might," she replied, "If there were someone who wanted to peel them and get them ready."
"I will. I don't mind doing it at all. These sure are good apples."
"How many have you eaten already?" ma asked me.
"Oh, only five or six," I replied. "Not very many. And they're small."
"They eat that many every time they pass the orchard," Roy put in. "Don't forget, Mabel, if you swallow the seeds, you'll have apple trees growing out your ears."
"Why, Roy!" ma exclaimed. "What an outlandish thing to tell your sister. You know that isn't so."
"I was just teasing, ma. Mabel doesn't believe it."
"You shouldn't say it if you don't want me to believe it," I said primly. "You might say something you do want me to believe, and I won't."
"All right, Mabel. It won't be necessary to preach a sermon. Get started on the apples, please."
A few days later, Sarah Jane stopped by the house after school. "Can Mabel come home to supper with me? We have lots of studying to do.
"Does your mother know you're asking her?" ma inquired.
"Yes, she said I could. Caleb and I will walk her home. Is it all right?"
"I guess so," ma replied. "Be sure you take care of your studying before you play." "Yes, ma'am," we replied. "We will."
On the way to Sarah Jane's, we stopped at the Gibbs's orchard.
"Some of these apples hit the ground pretty hard," Sarah Jane commented. "We'll have to eat around the bruises."
"It would be nice to have a whole apple straight from the tree, wouldn't it?" I said. "Of course, I'd rather have the windfalls than nothing."
Sarah Jane agreed, and we each picked up several. "I'd like to be around when that one falls," she said, and pointed to a dark red apple, about halfway up the tree. "Wouldn't that be a good one to take to Miss Gibson?"
Miss Gibson was a most beloved teacher. As we gazed at the apple we could imagine her delight at receiving it. She would undoubtedly hug us as she thanked us for it.
"Maybe if I just leaned on the tree a little, it would come down," I suggested. "Then you could catch it."
But my weight didn't budge that tree one bit. The apple hung solidly on its branch.
"Well," Sarah Jane sighed, "come on. Let's go home. We'll keep an eye on that one. Miss Gibson really would like it."
We watched that apple daily, making a special trip after school to stand under the tree and look at it longingly.
"I think it's going to spend the winter there," I said toward the end of the week. "Whatever is taking it so long to fall?"
"Tomorrow's Friday. If it isn't
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