"Just try one!"
Alene sank her teeth rather gingerly into the rounded green cheek of the proffered apple.
"It's rather sour!" she said, trying to repress a grimace but unable to keep the tears from her eyes.
Laura took from her apron pocket a tiny glass saltcellar and shook some of its contents lightly over the next bite which Alene heroically swallowed.
"It's not so very bad," she murmured. So intent was she on accepting Laura's intended kindness graciously that she envied the ease with which Ivy and Nettie disposed of the apples, biting off great mouthfuls and chewing them, core and all, with evident enjoyment.
Laura forgot to eat any herself, being content to watch Alene's performance and never dreaming what a task it was for her.
"Say, Laura!" came a voice in a loud, hissing tone intended for a whisper; "she's got lace on her petticoat."
"And silk stockings and slippers!"
"Hush—'tisn't polite to whisper before comp'ny," admonished Laura.
"I don't mind the little thing," said Alene in a confidential aside to Laura, regardless of the fact that the "little thing" was nearly as large as herself.