THE APPLE. 



121 



warm, the mound was covered with a thin coating of 

 earth, a flat stone on the top holding down the straw. 

 As winter set in another coating of earth was put upon 

 it, with perhaps an overcoat of coarse dry stable ma- 

 nure, and the precious pile was left in silence and 

 darkness till spring. No marmot hibernating under 

 ground in his nest of leaves and dry grass, more cosy 

 and warm. No frost, no wet, but fragrant privacy and 

 quiet. Then how the earth tempers and flavors the 

 apples ! It draws out all the acrid unripe qualities, 

 and infuses into them a subtle refreshing taste of the 

 soil. Some varieties perish, but the ranker, hardier 

 kinds, like the northern spy, the greening, or the black 

 apple, or the russet, how they ripen and grow in grace, 

 how the green becomes gold, and the bitter becomes 

 sweet ! 



As the supply in the bins and barrels gets low and 

 spring approaches, the buried treasures in the garden 

 are remembered. With spade and axe we go out and 

 penetrate through the snow and frozen earth till the 

 inner dressing of straw is laid bare. It is not quite as 

 clear and bright as when we placed it there last fall, 

 but the fruit beneath, which the hand soon exposes, is 

 just as bright and far more luscious. Then, as day 

 after day you resort to the hole, and removing the 

 straw and earth from the opening, thrust your arm into 

 the fragrant pit, you have a better chance than ever 

 before to become acquainted with your favorites by the 

 sense of touch. How you feel for them, reaching to 



