my trees.
Did you ever see pink like that in a bellflower? Isn't it pretty enough
for a girl's cheek? And say," he held up an exceedingly large apple,
nearer the size of a small pumpkin, "how's this for a Rome Beauty? An
agent who is selling acreage for a company down the Yakima offered me five
dollars for that apple yesterday. He wanted it for a window display over
at his Seattle office. But look at these Jonathans." His sensitive fingers
touched the fruit lingeringly with a sort of caress, and the glow deepened
in his face. "They represent the main crop. And talk about color! Did you
ever see wine and scarlet and gold blend and shade nicer than this?"

She shook her head. "Unless it was in a Puget Sound cloud effect at
sunset. That is what it reminds me of; a handful of Puget Sound sunset."

The station master laughed softly. "That's about it, sure. Now taste one
and tell me what the flavor of a Wenatchee Jonathan is like. No, that's
not quite ripe; try this."

She set her small white teeth in the crimson cheek and tested the flavor
deliberately, with the gravity of an epicure, while the boy watched her,
his whole nervous frame keyed by her responsiveness to high pitch. "It's
like nothing else in the world," she said finally. "No, wait, yes, it is.
It's like condensed wine; a blend of the best; golden Angelica, red port,
amber champagne, with just enough of old-fashioned cider to remind you it
is an apple."

The station master laughed again. "Say, but you've got it all in, fine."
He set the basket at her feet and stood looking down at her an uncertain
moment. "I would like awfully well to send you a box," he added, and the
flush of his bellflower was reflected in his cheek.

She gave him a swift upward glance and turned her face to the desert.
"Thank you, but when one is traveling, it is hard to give a certain
address." In the pause that followed, she glanced again and smiled. "I
would like one or two of these samples, though, if you can spare them,"
she compromised; "I shall be thirsty on that mountain road."

"I can spare all you'll take."

"Thank you," she repeated hastily. "And you may be sure I shall look for
your orchard when I reach Wenatchee. The fruit on the trees must be
beautiful."

"It is. It's worth the drive up from Wenatchee just to see Hesperides
Vale, and that special Eden of mine is the core. You couldn't miss it;
about ten miles up and right on the river road."

"I shall find it," she nodd