"I have a clean white frock on," she explained, "or I would not trouble you."
I assured her that it was no trouble.
We duly reached the orchard, where Miss Damer ate three green apples and presented me with a fourth, which, fearing a fifth, I consumed as slowly as possible, hoping for the sake of our first parents that Eve's historic indiscretion took place in late September and not early August.
Presently we came to a red-brick wall with a south aspect, upon which the noonday sun beat warmly. High up upon its face grew plums, fat, ripe, and yellow.
Miss Damer threw away the core of an apple and turned to me.
"I should like a plum," she said, with a seraphic smile.
The wall was fifteen feet high, and the plums grew near the top.
"I will find a ladder," I replied obediently.
"That would be bothering you too much," said the considerate Miss Damer. "Can't you put your foot in that root and pull yourself up by the branches?"
The branches, be it said, were gnarled and fragile, and lay flat against the wall.