“Five big ones and all of them bruised, so they are for us,” shouted Johnny Blossom; and the apples vanished inside his blouse.
“Well, but I want some,” answered Tellef from the tree.
“Of course. I just put them in here to keep.”
Another shaking of the branches. Besides some decayed ones, four good apples fell, hitting the ground with such force that these, too, were crushed or cracked. Tellef was down on the instant. My, oh, my! but they were delicious apples. Neither of the boys had ever tasted any equal to them. A sharp knock sounded on Aunt Grenertsen’s window, and Johnny hurried over there.
“It seems to me you do nothing but eat,” came through the window.
“Oh, no. These are some that got smashed and you said we might eat those.”
“Such rough shaking, I don’t like. You must pick the apples.”
“Yes, Aunt Grenertsen.”
Up the tree went both the boys. They picked six apples, but found it impossible to reach any more. All the others hung upon thin old branches that cracked if you but touched them, and would by no means bear a boy’s weight. The boys tried and tried to get the apples, but the tempting things hung exasperatingly out of reach.
“No use,” said Johnny. “I’ll have to stand under the tree and hold the basket, while you shake the apples into it. Then they won’t whack on the ground and bruise themselves.”