The band crept forward, hugging the deeper gloom of the trees until they had reached the end of the orchard. Once there, there was a quick and silent rush for a certain big tree that grew the apples they best liked. Out came the pillow-cases and hands searched the ground for fallen fruit. But there was little of that yet, for there had been no rain or wind storms.
“Who’s going to shake?” asked Spud softly.
“Let Clara do it,” said Hoop. “He’s small and can shin up easily.”
“I—I’d rather not,” said Claire nervously.
“I’ll do it,” Cal volunteered. “You take my bag, Ned.” He had soon worked his way to the crotch of the tree and from there he walked out on one of the branches and jarred it by jumping up and down. The apples fell in a veritable shower, and Spud, who had been looking up, received one fairly and squarely on the tip of his nose and said “Gee!” so loudly that he was threatened with awful things if he didn’t keep quiet.
“Guess you’d yell if a big old apple hit you on the nose,” he muttered aggrievedly as he filled his pillow-case.
“Shut up, you idiot! Give her another shake, Cal!” said Sandy.
“Wait a minute and I’ll try another branch.” There was a rustling as Cal moved cautiously about the tree and then another rain of fruit began. “Anyone filling my bag?” he asked in a whisper. But his question was never answered, for somebody—it sounded like The Fungus, though he always maintained that he never opened his mouth—let out a screech of terror, and [panic seized the company]. Cal, with the branches adding to the darkness about him, saw nothing, but the sound of footsteps pounding the ground told him that he was being deserted by his comrades. Once someone fell and there was a smothered exclamation of alarm, and then there reached him the sound of crashing branches as the boys fled helter-skelter through the lilacs and surmounted the fence as best they might.