A real apple and a clay apple lay side by side. The real apple was
jealous of the clay apple. A little girl had smoothed and pressed and
patted the cheek of the clay apple, but she had only looked at him. Soon
along came the little girl with her hat and coat on. She picked up the
real apple. “Come, ripe red apple,” said she; “we’ll go visiting. I know
a little lame boy who will like a bite of you. My clay apple would never
do for that.”
As she looked at him, the real apple felt himself turning a deeper red,
he was so ashamed that he had been jealous.