rtillerymen to get it out for you. He will find it a
much easier job than getting you out."

Bert loved the old fort and its cannons none the less because of his
adventure, and as he grew older he learned to drop down into it from the
garden fence, and climb back again, with the agility of a monkey. The
garden itself was not very extensive, but Bert took a great deal of
pleasure in it, too, for he was fond of flowers--what true boy, indeed,
is not?--and it contained a large number within its narrow limits, there
being no less than two score rose bushes of different varieties, for
instance. The roses were very plenteous and beautiful when in their
prime, but at opposite corners of the little garden stood two trees that
had far more interest for Bert than all the rose trees put together.
These were two apple trees, planted, no one knew just how or when, which
had been allowed to grow up at their own will, without pruning or
grafting, and, as a consequence, were never known to produce fruit that
was worth eating. Every spring they put forth a brave show of pink and
white blossoms, as though this year, at all events, they were going to
do themselves credit, and every autumn the result appeared in
half-a-dozen hard, small, sour, withered-up apples that hardly deserved
the name. And yet, although these trees showed no signs of repentance
and amendment, Bert, with the quenchless hopefulness of boyhood, never
quite despaired of their bringing forth an apple that he could eat
without having his mouth drawn up into one tight pucker. Autumn after
autumn he would watch the slowly developing fruit, trusting for the
best. It always abused his confidence, however, but it was a long time
before he finally gave it up in despair.

At one side of the garden stood a neat little barn that was also of
special interest to Bert, for, besides the stall for the cow, there was
another, still vacant, which Mr. Lloyd had promised should have a pony
for its tenant so soon as Bert was old enough to be trusted with such a
playmate.

Hardly a day passed that Bert did not go into the stable, and, standing
by the little stall, wonder to himself how it would look with a pretty
pony in it. Of course, he felt very impatient to have the pony, but Mr.
Lloyd had his own ideas upon that point, and was not to be moved from
them. He thought that when Bert was ten years old would be quite time
enough, and so there was nothing to do but to wait, which Bert did, w