The Portland daily press., 1886-06-18
THE SOURCES APPLES.
BY HELEN FOREST GRAVES.

sSuch pretty applesps cried Linnet Des-
soir. ecstatically. with red cheeks, just as
if fairy pencil had painted them, and deli
cious. bleomy streaks here and there! l
should like to copy them on plaque or
panel OF something, if only one could be sure
Of reproducing those delicate tints of rose
and white"
"Wel, ,declareP' said Rose Hebron, the
country cou IN, whom she was visiting,
laughing witfra merry thrush-like laugh, as
the two girls sat on moss-enameled bould-
er under the boughs of the ladyapple tree,
with here and there yellow leaf tiutterlng
dreamily down at their feet who would
dream of such poetical description apply
ing to the apples that grow in Squire Sand
ford's orchard?"
"Wasnt it good of him to allow us to gath
er them ?" said Linnet, trimming the side
leaflets off lovely branch Of yellow golden
rod.
Il shall not believe that they are abso-
lutely ours, though" declared Rose, until l
see them in the old apple-bin at home'
''Why not?"
"oh, Squire Cedric is eccentrlc!' Rose
answered carelessly.
SIS that his name?'
Eyes. Isn't it an odd relic of the Saxon
times?" laughed Rose.
''It's very romantic name" remarked
Linnet. wrinkling her brows in pretty con-
sideration of the epithet.
"He isn't romantic, observed Rose.
'Tsn't he? But why not?"
'.Hes so old! Thirty, at least!' Rose re-
sponded with an emphatic nod of her head
"Horrid ogrer" said Linnet, who was in
her seventeeth year. "Come, Rosy, let's go
home. I'm as hungry as cannibal! Gath
erlng apples is such hard work!''
She skipped ahead, with her yellow tresses
floating behind, like stray sands of sunshine,
and her white dress rustling over the drifts
of perfumed leaves that carpeted the path.
Rose followed, with atfectionate eyes OF
admiration. EE7
s'What is the difference between me and
Linnet?" she asked herself MY dress is
white also; my hair is as golden as hers.
Why is it that she is like dancing sprite-l,
a plodding human being?"
Poor little Rosy! She did not realize that
Linnet Dessoir had grown up in an altogeth-
er different atmosphere; that Linnet had I'M
consciously modelled her dress from the
graceful robes which her father, the artist,
kept to drape his lay figures; that her eye
had been trained, her taste cultured in every
possible point.
"He's only poor struggling ortist!" far
mer Hebron had been wont contemptuously
to observe, when he saw his brother-in-law's
name among the lists specially honored by
the Academy of Design.
"Hes good fellow enough" Eugene Des-
soir airly remarked when his agricultural
connection happened to be mentioned. But
he hasn't an idea beyond his own fat cattle
He don't live; he only vegetables
',Linnet, however, the bright, motherless
young beauty, was great fayorite of the
kind-hearted HebrOns; and when she had so
enthusiastically admired the beautiful pink
and white lady-apples on Squire Sandford's
tree, Mr.. Hebron had gone so far cut of his
way to ask the squire for barrel
Gust to please the little GIRL" said he.
''She thinks a deal Of pretty things"
'She is quite welcome" said Squire San
ford, with formal politeness. IF you will
send barrel to the tree tomorrow, Mr.. He
bron. it shall be filled for your niece"
And when the squire said this he pictured
I'm his minds eye the aforesaid niece as
romp of eleven or twelve, with shingled hair
freclxles and preternaturally long arms.
All night long Linnet Dessoir dreamed of
the Iady-apples, and when the sun rose, a
snbere of rubbed fire, above the eastern hills,
she jumped out of bed and dressed with
haste. .,-,-..,, .,;,
ssIts inst the very sort of morning to walk
oh ,n lodx
apple tree, with the little spring gushing out
so close to its roots, and the blue asters and
thickets of golden-rod by the stone fence.
won't wake Rosy. She was up late last
night. putting labels on the ounce jelly.
ri let her sleep, and go by myself?'
But Miss Hebron was no more of laggard
in the morning than was her city cousin AT
seven precisely she knocked at LhhetS
door, but the bird had flown.
Show provokingr' said Rose. But I'll
follow her. She must have gone to try TO
make that sketch of the old messy rock close
to the lady-apple tree. l wonder II she
knows that my father has pastured Ajax IN
the adjoining field"
"AjaX" was a savage, beautiful bail, who
was at once the pride and torment of Farmer
Hebron, and thrill of terror came into
Roses heart as she made all speed to follow
the dewy track Of Linnet's footsteps over
che grass.
AS she reached the belt of woods close to
the apple orchard, she paused in dismay at
the sound of a sweet, high-pitched voice.
''Its Linnet?" she involuntarily exclaimed,
t.and she's scolding somebody Dear me,
whom can it be? Surely not Ajax
"You are a thief! "she could hear Linnet
exclain-"a robber! Let that barrel Of apples
alone, say! don't care whether you are