"Each year, when the cuckoo came calling in the spring, there was no finer sight in all the world than the Apple Tree. So thick was it with blossoms that scarce a branch or twig could be seen. Its fragrance floated on the breeze, drawing every bee and butterfly for leagues and leagues about. Surely with such a tree I might look for a bounteous harvest, one would think. But, alas! No sooner was the Apple Tree thus decked like a bride than my wicked enemy, the North Wind, would come and blow these blossoms far away. But mark you now the wonder of my tale: a few blossoms would sometimes fall beneath the tree, and when they fell they made a chinking sound like that of small coins in children's banks. When they had withered, I always found bright, new shining pennies where they had lain.
"Now from this curious fact I have believed that when the Apple Tree would bear fruit, the apples would be of gold. If young and tender blossoms yield bright, new shining pennies, does it not follow that the ripened fruit should be of purest gold?"
"It would seem so, good dame," agreed the Traveler. "What then were the apples—silver, perhaps?"
"Indeed sir, no!" replied Dame Grumble with deep feeling. "For all I know, in cutting off the branches of my favorite tree, my wicked son bewitched it. For though the Apple Tree bore fruit this year, it bore naught but red apples of a common sort; I scorn to gather them!
"Oh, Oh!" wept Dame Grumble, bursting into tears once again at the memory of her loss. "Thus to have my own son so wicked and disobedient, whilst I, footsore and weary, was seeking for the fortune in pennies which the North Wind had stolen from me these many years! It is too much! I am sure, good sir, you will agree that I have many troubles, and that it is not right to call me Dame Grumble because I sometimes speak of them."
"I had rather agree that you have also many blessings, good dame," returned the Traveler, with his kindly smile. "Come, let us draw our chairs before the hearth, and perhaps you may learn to see them too. There is nothing that does so help us see our blessings as the bright flames dancing up the chimney when all the world without is dark and cold."
But ere she sat down, Dame Grumble recollected yet another grievance. "And added to my other troubles," she complained, "I have a son who is lame and must be always a burden instead of a staff."
The Traveler nodded gravely. "That is a sorrow, I agree," said he, "and I have no doubt, good dame, that your motherly heart must often ache with the pity of it all."
To this Dame Grumble made no reply; she began to think instead. For years her mind had been so busy with the plans for her blossoms and her golden harvest that it had quite forgotten how to think of aught else. As for her heart, it ached only when she thought of the fortune in pennies that the North Wind had stolen from her, and that she had not found.
"Then too, Dame Grumble," continued the Traveler, "I must tell you that I think the North Wind no more than a rough playful fellow, and not wicked as you say. Only this afternoon he stole my hat and ran away with it, but before I had gone twenty yards, the amiable fellow had brought it back to me again. And since he blew me to your cottage door, I will henceforth claim the North Wind for my friend."