“Yes, very. We shook them into a basket. Those that were bruised, Aunt Grenertsen said we might have.”
“Did she? And how many did Aunt Grenertsen get?”
“Oh”—Further probing on Mother’s part to find out what Aunt Grenertsen’s share of the harvest had amounted to, drew forth the truth, uttered with a show of enthusiasm.
“She had quite a good many—eight big beautiful apples—and six of them hadn’t the least speck of a bruise on them anywhere.”
“But poor Auntie! Do you mean to say she had only eight apples for herself? And she so fond of them too! How in the world could that happen when there was so much fruit on the tree?”
“It was queer there weren’t more, but none of the apples would fall in the basket, and they would whack right down on the ground, and so they got bruised—and then we ate them, you see, Mother.”
“Oh! I am really sorry for Aunt Grenertsen,” said Mother. “I must see if I can’t find something good to send her to make up for this. It was not at all nice of you, John—not at all kind. Poor Aunt Grenertsen who is so lonely and has so little of everything!”
Johnny Blossom blinked hard. He began to feel disgusted with himself. Just think of Aunt Grenertsen’s being very fond of apples—and of Mother’s feeling so sorry for her! Suddenly he rushed from the door. Perhaps Tellef had some apples left. Not even a core remained of his own.
Pshaw! At Tellef’s they had eaten all the apples immediately on Tellef’s arrival with them.
How trying it was that Aunt Grenertsen should be so particularly fond of apples! Poor thing! And besides, she was lonely, Mother had said, and had very little money. It was too bad.