LETTER XLVI.
William to his Mother.
We had yesterday a whole day of pleasure, gathering the winter fruits. The gardener and his son climbed into the high trees, and plucked the apples and pears from the heavy laden branches; and we held the baskets to save them from being bruised, for those that fall to the ground will not keep. Some country girls had been observing our employment; and one of them spoke to Harry, eagerly looking at the apples.
CHARLES.
What does that girl want?
HARRY.
She desires me to ask you for some apples for a sick mother; and I know the poor woman has been a long time ill.
CHARLES.
For a sick mother?—she is a good child, go give her as many as she can carry; let her have some for herself as well as her mother.
HARRY.
Shall I give her some of these small ones, which are not of a very good kind?