e gray stone walls and square
tower were partly hid with vines. It was the most pretentious
habitation in the town and occupied the most beautiful site. Laura and
her friends regarded it somewhat as a fairy palace, around which they
wove many fanciful romances.

"I'm a-visiting there now but when Uncle goes down town and the maids
are all at work I don't know what to do with myself; and when I saw you
all here among the trees I just hurried down, I was so glad to see a
crowd of girls, but naughty Prince ran ahead and scared you away! What
were you playing?"

"We weren't playing; we were just picking apples."

Alene looked horrified.

"You see, Mr. Dawson allows us to come in and take all we want,"
explained Laura hurriedly, while a shrill voice from the wall cried:

"We weren't _stealing_!"

"I never thought that!"

"Well, she looked as if she did," commented Ivy.

"I looked surprised because--well--to think you would eat such green
apples."

This statement brought forth a ripple of amusement from the two critics
and Alene with reddened cheeks turned to the girl at her side.

"Well, they are dangerous, aren't they?"

"Don't mind those kids, they giggle at 'most anything. You see we are
used to eating them and they are not injurious if you eat 'em with
salt," explained Laura, though not very clearly.

"She's to take the kids and the apples with a little salt!" cried Ivy.

"Just try one!"

Alene sank her teeth rather gingerly into the rounded green cheek of
the proffered apple.

"It's rather sour!" she said, trying to repress a grimace but unable to
keep the tears from her eyes.

Laura took from her apron pocket a tiny glass saltcellar and shook some
of its contents lightly over the next bite which Alene heroically
swallowed.

"It's not so very bad," she murmured. So intent was she on accepting
Laura's intended kindness graciously that she envied the ease with
which Ivy and Nettie disposed of the apples, biting off great mouthfuls
and chewing them, core and all, with evident enjoyment.

Laura forgot to eat any herself, being content to watch Alene's
performance and never dreaming what a task it was for her.

"Say, Laura!" came a voice in a loud, hissing tone intended for a
whisper; "she's got lace on her petticoat."

"And silk stockings and slippers!"

"Hush--'tisn't polite to whisper before comp'ny," admonished Laura.

"I don't mind the little thing," said Alene in a confidential aside t