“Why shouldn’t they?” asked Spud. “Gee, they’ve got barrels and barrels of them, haven’t they?”
“Yes, but they sell most of them, I think,” replied Marm.
“Sell them! Why, I thought they had money to throw away.”
“They’re very rich, of course,” Mrs. Linn replied, “but I suppose they think they might as well turn the apples into money as have them rot on the ground. They’re beautiful apples, too.”
“They are indeed,” muttered The Fungus dreamily. “Ouch!”
“Shut up, you ninny!” commanded Sandy fiercely. The Fungus reached down and surreptitiously rubbed his shin. Mrs. Linn looked down the table wonderingly until Claire caused a diversion by asking if they might have some of the apples baked.
“Don’t you worry,” said Spud gloomily. “We’ll have ’em baked, all right; and stewed, and made into apple pies and apple pudding and all kinds of things. I hate apples.”
“Why!” exclaimed Marm. “I thought you loved them.”
Spud shook his head soberly. “No, ma’am, not since they caused all that trouble in the Garden of Eden. I used to be quite fond of them before that, though.”