“Nobody owns ’em,” said her brother. “There’s no house around here. I guess they’re just wild apples and anybody that wants can pick ’em.”
Ted had rather queer ideas, but he meant no wrong, and soon the three children were under the trees, gathering the fruit. It was just getting ripe.
Presently Trouble, who seemed to care more about running around than he did about picking up apples, gave a cry and pointed at something in a distant field.
“What is it?” asked Janet.
“It’s a man. He’s coming here,” announced the little fellow. “I see a tramp man.”
“Oh, Ted!” gasped Janet, “what’ll we do?”
“Well, if it’s a tramp we’ll just go back to our boat,” decided the Curlytop lad. “He won’t dare say a word when he sees father and mother.”
“Yes, but s’posin’ it’s the man that owns these apples?” went on Jan.
“Well,” and Teddy thought about that a moment, “we can say daddy will pay him for ’em, and he will. We only took some because we didn’t think anybody wanted ’em. I’m not afraid.”
“Where’s the man, Trouble? Show me,” Jan told her small brother. “I don’t see any one.”