“Shall I leave the baskets here, sir?” I said.
“Yes; just as they are.”
He stooped down and examined the apples, turning them over a little.
“Hah! yes,” he said; “nicely picked. That will do. You’ve got on too.”
He went on, and I was following behind the cats, but he drew on one side to let me walk by him.
“Eat your apple,” he said smiling, as he looked sidewise at me. “Only we always pick out the ugliest fruit and vegetables for home use, and send the best-looking to market.”
“I’ll remember that, sir,” I said.
“Do, Grant, my lad. You will not lose by it, for I’ll tell you something. The shabbiest-looking, awkwardly-grown apples, pears, and plums are generally the finest flavoured.”
“Are they, sir?” I said.
“That they are, my boy. If you want a delicious pear don’t pick out the great shapely ones, but those that are screwed all on one side and covered with rusty spots. The same with the plums and apples. They are almost always to be depended upon.”