hildren scampered home, saying:

"It's a good thing we were near that tree, or we should have been
soaking wet. There isn't another one like it in the orchard."

The little tree heard their words of gratitude, and wept for joy.

The next day was bright and warm, and pleasant sunshiny weather
followed. At last the haze of Indian summer settled lovingly over the
country and the orchard rang with the voices of men and boys carrying
baskets and ladders.

"Too bad that equinoctial storm was such a blusterer," said one of the
men. "These lazy trees have dropped much of their fruit, and it lies
bruised on the ground."

But they picked barrel after barrel of the rich harvest, and soon the
little tree was left alone with her burden of useless fruit.

Now the trees seemed prouder than ever, and talked boastfully about the
fine apple harvest _they_ had furnished for mankind.

The little tree sighed softly to herself.

"But I must not be unhappy," she said, "for if I cannot bear beautiful
red and golden apples, there is surely some work for me to do, and I
shall find out what it is."

And now, though the little tree had not noticed that her apples had
grown, her branches were bending almost to the ground with their weight.
She tried to shake off some of the apples, for it seemed to add to her
disgrace to bear so much of this useless fruit. But she could no more
shake them off than could the wind and storm.

The clear cool fall days were passing, growing shorter and shorter. The
little tree was very lonely now, for the chipmunk was snug in his winter
home, the birds had flown south and the cows now looked for sun instead
of shade. The other trees, having finished their work, were preparing
for their long winter nap. The little tree way down in the corner of the
orchard seldom saw any one, but she was stout of heart, and kept on
saying:

"I know I shall find some way to be of use."

She did not pay much attention to her apples, for she had long ago given
up hopes of their becoming red and ripe.

Every night now white frost tripped daintily over the hardening ground,
and at sunup disappeared; the days were cool and bright; the frosts grew
heavier and the weather colder.

One day there were voices in the orchard,--men and boys carrying baskets
and ladders were coming; and to the astonishment of the little tree,
they stopped under her boughs, placed the ladders in the branches and
climbed up.

"Good old apples!" cried