She picked an apple off it shouting to poor Tom still aloft,—
"Tom what's the name of this one?"
"You should come a bit earlier, zir," replied T. "'Tis late a bit now doan't 'ee zee?"
"No—what's its name I want," shouted his spouse.
"Yes, yes, give the lady one to take home—there's plenty for all," he said.
"What is the NAME? THE NAME OF THIS YER APPULL," screamed Mrs. B., and old Tom moving his bones slowly down from the tree answered quite unmoved,—
"Aw the name? Why, 'tis a common kind of appull—there's a nice tree of 'em up there."
"Oh! never mind, 'tis a Gladstone," said Mrs. B., turning to us.
"A very fine Appull," droned the old boy.
September 28.