ere over
that affair," concluded Anne, with reminiscent laughter.

The woods around the head of the marsh were full of purple vistas,
threaded with gossamers. Past a dour plantation of gnarled spruces and
a maple-fringed, sun-warm valley they found the "something" Gilbert was
looking for.

"Ah, here it is," he said with satisfaction.

"An apple tree--and away back here!" exclaimed Anne delightedly.

"Yes, a veritable apple-bearing apple tree, too, here in the very midst
of pines and beeches, a mile away from any orchard. I was here one day
last spring and found it, all white with blossom. So I resolved I'd come
again in the fall and see if it had been apples. See, it's loaded. They
look good, too--tawny as russets but with a dusky red cheek. Most wild
seedlings are green and uninviting."

"I suppose it sprang years ago from some chance-sown seed," said Anne
dreamily. "And how it has grown and flourished and held its own here all
alone among aliens, the brave determined thing!"

"Here's a fallen tree with a cushion of moss. Sit down, Anne--it will
serve for a woodland throne. I'll climb for some apples. They all grow
high--the tree had to reach up to the sunlight."

The apples proved to be delicious. Under the tawny skin was a white,
white flesh, faintly veined with red; and, besides their own proper
apple taste, they had a certain wild, delightful tang no orchard-grown
apple ever possessed.

"The fatal apple of Eden couldn't have had a rarer flavor," commented
Anne. "But it's time we were going home. See, it was twilight three
minutes ago and now it's moonlight. What a pity we couldn't have caught
the moment of transformation. But such moments never are caught, I
suppose."

"Let's go back around the marsh and home by way of Lover's Lane. Do you
feel as disgruntled now as when you started out, Anne?"

"Not I. Those apples have been as manna to a hungry soul. I feel that I
shall love Redmond and have a splendid four years there."

"And after those four years--what?"

"Oh, there's another bend in the road at their end," answered Anne
lightly. "I've no idea what may be around it--I don't want to have. It's
nicer not to know."

Lover's Lane was a dear place that night, still and mysteriously dim
in the pale radiance of the moonlight. They loitered through it in a
pleasant chummy silence, neither caring to talk.

"If Gilbert were always as he has been this evening how nice and simple
everything would be," re