. Yet the miracles are greater now than
they were then. They have more meaning. Now are they part of some
great order. They are not separate. Without moving my feet, I lay my
hands on apples, Virginia creeper, asparagus, marigold, sweet sultan,
oxalis, plantain, crab-grass, white clover, all growing securely in
one place, and everyone like unto itself alone. Here is the
everlasting miracle before my eyes, and all miracles are mysteries.
Once I thought I should understand such things when I was "grown up,"
but I find myself still a boy.

[Illustration: 11. July 31, and the apples are getting ripe]

These three apples on the last of the days of July look fair and
sound, partly hidden in the leaves, the deep red colors covering them
in broad splashed stripes and relieved by light dots. Yet when I raise
the leaves or when I lift the apples apart, I find the burrows of
insects. They know that these apples are good. It is astonishing how
nature covers up the wounds, how she conceals the sore places, and how
fair she makes everything look. Were it not that she covers the
depredations of man, the earth would not long remain habitable by him.

Summer is ended. Today the sun is on the equator, and we are at the
equinox when nights are equal to the days, as the word testifies. The
harvest is over. The apples are no more. Yet the tree still is active
and preparing for another year (Fig. 12). The spurs are now thick and
stout, bearing sturdy hard leaves. The bud in the center is a big
one, already recognized as a fruit-bud: here is the promise of
speckled, furrowed, striped apples next August. Thereby I learn that
it is not enough to be good to the tree in the year in which I desire
its fruit: I must begin the year before, and the year before that, and
even back at the time when the tree is planted; and if the tree at
planting-time is not a good tree, it will be at a disadvantage perhaps
all its life long.

[Illustration: 12. September 22, and the buds are formed for the next
year's crop]

Finally the apple is ripe and ready. At the stem end is the "cavity,"
a depression, deep or shallow, according to variety, in which the stem
is set. At the blossom end is the "basin," also with the
characteristics of the variety as to depth and width and contour, in
which the calyx-lobes persist, and inside the calyx are the remains of
the dead stamens and styles; the calyx may be "closed" or "open," the
character being a mark of the particu