"Shoo!" exclaimed the apple woman. "If you ain't the poor igno'antest w'ite chillen that ever lived. Why, if you ain't never heerd on 'em, yo're likely to be snapped up by 'em any day in the week as you was jest now."
"Oh, tell us. Do tell us!" begged Franz and Emilie.
"Co'se I will, 'case 't ain't right for them mis'able creeturs to be hangin' around you all, and you not up to their capers. Fust place they're called the error-fairies 'case they're all servants to a creetur named Error. She's a cheat and a humbug, allers pertendin' somethin' or other, and she makes it her business to fight a great and good fairy named Love. Now Love—oh, chillen, my pore tongue can't tell you of the beauty and goodness o' the fairy Love! She's the messenger of a great King, and spends her whole time a-blessin' folks. Her hair shines with the gold o' the sun; her eyes send out soft beams; her gown is w'ite, and when she moves 'tis as if forget-me-nots and violets was runnin' in little streams among its folds. Ah, chillen," the apple woman shook her head, "she's the blessin' o' the world. Her soft arms are stretched out to gather in and comfort every sorrowin' heart.
"Well, 'case she was so lovely an' the great King trusted her, Error thought she'd try her hand; but she hadn't any king, Error hadn't. There wa'n't nobody to stand for her or to send her on errands. She was a low-lifed, flabby creetur," the apple woman made a scornful grimace; "jest a misty-moisty nobody; nothin' to her. Her gown was a cloud and she wa'n't no more 'n a shadder, herself, until she could git somebody to listen to her. When she did git somebody to listen to her, she'd begin to stiffen up and git some backbone and git awful sassy; so she crep' around whisperin' to folks that Love was no good, and 'lowin' that she—that mis'able creetur—was the queen o' life.
"Some folks knowed better and told her so, right pine blank, an' then straight off she'd feel herself changin' back into a shadder, an' sail away as fast as she could to try it on somebody else. She was ugly to look at as a bad dream, but yet there was lots o' folks would pay 'tention to her, and after they'd listened once or twice, she kep' gittin' stronger and pearter, an' as she got stronger, they got weaker, and every day it was harder fer 'em to drive her off, even after they'd got sick of her.
"Then, even if she didn't have a king, she had slaves; oh, dozens and dozens of error-fairies, to do her will. Creepin' shadders they was, too, till somebody listened to 'em and give 'em a backbone. There's—let me see"—the apple woman looked off to jog her memory—"there's Laziness, Selfishness, Backbitin', Cruelty—oh, I ain't got time to tell 'em all; an' not one mite o' harm in one of 'em, only for some silly mortal that listens and gives the creetur a backbone. They jest lop over an' melt away, the whole batch of 'em, when Love comes near. She knows what no-account humbugs they are, you see; and they jest lop over an' melt away whenever even a little chile knows enough to say 'Go off fum here, an' quit pesterin''!"
Franz and Emilie stared at the apple woman and listened hard. Their cheeks matched the apples.
"What happened a minute ago to you-all? An error-creetur named Slap-back whispered to you. 'Quarrel!' says she. What'd you do? Did you say 'Go off, you triflin' vilyun'?
"Not a bit of it. You quarreled; an' Slap-back kep' gittin' bigger and stronger and stiffer in the backbone while you was goin' it, an' at last up comes this little hand of Emilie's. Whack! That was the time Slap-back couldn't hold in, an' she jest laughed an' laughed over yo' shoulder. Ah, the little red eyes she had, and the wiry hair! And that other one, the fairy, Love, she was pickin' up her w'ite gown with both hands an' flyin' off as if she had wings. Of course you didn't notice her. You was too taken up with yo' friend."
"But Slap-back isn't our friend," declared Emilie earnestly.