ruddy, 
luscious 
scions 
of ‘the 
house of apple. 
What a day that 
was! I can not for- 
get it; and, to be plain 
I have not tried to. 
That was my day of 
vindication. I was like 
Job when his trouble 
was over—]I felt good. 
. 
I felt 
very good. ‘Apples! apples!” 
I cried, instead of calling out 
that ancient word (so archaic), 
‘“‘Fureka!’’ That same day | 
pears (not from the apple-trees), and 
some late peaches (hard as biscuits new 
wives bake). But providence has vindi- 
cated me. Those who thought me mad (and 
what is worse, told me and others what they 
thought) are now humiliated, and I, to use the 
salmist’s phrase, may stand by and say, ‘Ahal 
at). 
“aeg 
ne a good Kansas breeze of apples. 
~ im 
I do not despair. ‘They ae serve 
who only stand and wait,’’ says my 
special friend, Milton. This being so, 
I am a high-grade servant of the 
apple crop. I stand and wait. 
This fall | went through the 
orchard, and (say it with 
no haste, nor yet ‘‘trip- 
pingly on the 
tongue,”’ but with 
studied delibera- 
tion, as a man 
- PS would kiss his 
e sweetheart), 
I found 
apples, big 
and 
picked 
200 
