IN THE ORCHARD
O the apples rosy-red, O the gnarled trunks grey and brown, Heavy branchéd overhead; O the apples rosy-red, O the merry laughter sped, As the fruit is showered down! O the apples rosy-red, O the gnarled trunks grey and brown. George Weatherby.
JOHNNY APPLESEED
Josephine Scribner Gates
Once there was a man who was very, very poor. He had been a farmer, and no one raised such fine crops as he did. By and by, in some way, he lost his farm, and was left all alone.
He had always wanted to do some grand thing, something that would make many people happy, but what could he do? He had no money. All he had was a small boat.