First, however, the six perfect apples were laid carefully upon the porch steps.
John held the basket under a branch while Tellef shook it. Eight apples bounced and rolled in the garden path, but not one fell into the basket and not one but showed a bruise or a split.
“What a stupid you are to shake them off that way!” exclaimed Johnny.
“Not a bit. It is you who are stupid about holding the basket,” retorted Tellef.
They stole glances at Aunt Grenertsen’s window. Fortunately, she was not looking out and so had not seen the unlucky outcome of this attempt. Hastily thrusting the eight apples into their blouses, they both climbed the tree again and stretched and reached their utmost till one branch broke and the boys nearly tumbled from the tree.
“Well. We’ll just have to shake them off.”
“Yes, we must; but shake gently.” Three much crushed and two that were bruised slightly, with, of course, a number of decayed ones that did not count.
“These two we’ll lay on the steps.”
Strangely enough, there were almost no apples left on the tree now, except those on a very slender branch. They would have to be shaken down, for no person alive could reach them. Violent shaking ensued and apples pelted down in a shower, every one landing with a thud that bruised or marred it somewhere. The boys gathered them hurriedly and deposited them under a gooseberry bush.
True as you live, there were no more apples on the tree! It was remarkable how little time it had taken to strip it. And on the steps lay only eight apples, and two of them were bruised! What would Aunt Grenertsen say at getting so few? Well, he must take them in to her.