Quickly they rushed to the tree, and how gladly she gathered them in, and kept them dry under her loving arms; and not one of her apples fell off.
Soon the shower was over, and the children scampered home, saying:
"It's a good thing we were near that tree, or we should have been soaking wet. There isn't another one like it in the orchard."
The little tree heard their words of gratitude, and wept for joy.
The next day was bright and warm, and pleasant sunshiny weather followed. At last the haze of Indian summer settled lovingly over the country and the orchard rang with the voices of men and boys carrying baskets and ladders.
"Too bad that equinoctial storm was such a blusterer," said one of the men. "These lazy trees have dropped much of their fruit, and it lies bruised on the ground."
But they picked barrel after barrel of the rich harvest, and soon the little tree was left alone with her burden of useless fruit.
Now the trees seemed prouder than ever, and talked boastfully about the fine apple harvest they had furnished for mankind.
The little tree sighed softly to herself.
"But I must not be unhappy," she said, "for if I cannot bear beautiful red and golden apples, there is surely some work for me to do, and I shall find out what it is."