“Thank you,” he replied; “that’s not the way to pick my apples. Why, don’t you know that the fruit does not grow in the middle of a tree, but round the outside, where the sun and wind can get at the blossom?”
“I didn’t know it,” I said rather ruefully. “I seem to be very ignorant. I wish I had been more to school.”
“They wouldn’t have taught you that at school, my lad,” he said smiling. “Why, of course you did not know it. I didn’t know such things when I was your age. Look here. You must have a ladder put for you against a tree, and take a basket with a hook to the handle. There, I’ll show you; but you are sure you will not tumble?”
“I’ll take care, sir,” I said. “I’ll be very careful.”
It was a sunny morning, and leading the way, Old Brownsmith went out to where Ike was busy putting in plants with a dibber, striding over a stretched-out line, making holes, thrusting in one of the plants he held in his left hand, and with one thrust or two of the dibber surrounding it with the soft moist earth.
He raised himself unwillingly, and went off to obey orders; one of the work-women was sent to fetch some flat sieves; while from one of the sheds I brought a couple of deep cross-handled baskets to each of which a wooden hook was attached.
By the time we had walked to where the king-pippin trees stood with their tall straight branches, Ike was before us with a ladder, with the lower rounds made of great length, so as to give width to the bottom.
I had noticed this before when I had seen the ladders hanging up in the long shed, and now asked the reason why they were so made.
“To keep them from tilting over when you are up there,” said Old Brownsmith. “Gently, Ike, don’t bruise them. Ah! there they go.”
For, as Ike thumped down the bottom of the ladder, and then let the top lean against the tree, a couple of apples were knocked off, to come down, one with a thud on the soft soil, the other to strike in the fork of the tree and bound to my feet.