The little tree listened, trembling with happiness. Could it be true?
She gazed at the fruit on her heavy branches, and there, like drops of gold, tinged with the sombre violet of November, hung ball after ball of the luscious sweetness.
"Oh!" she murmured, "how blest I am to have so much to give, when all the rest of nature is silent and sleeping. How happy I shall be, and how earnestly I will try to bear the sweetest apples ever grown!"
At last the apples were all picked and carried to the great bins in the cellar, there to lie mellowing and sweetening for the farmer's use during the long winter months.
And the little russet apple tree went to sleep, and took her long nap with the rest.