There was an old apple-tree in the orchard that was the oldest tree in
the town. It overtopped the house, and the trunk was very big and brown
and rough; but O, the millions of fine green leaves, as soft and smooth
as silk, that it held up in the summer air!
In the spring it was gay with pink and white blossoms, and then for days
the tree would be all alive with the great, black-belted bees. A little
later those sweet blossoms would fall off in a rosy rain, and Myra and I
would stand under the old apple-tree and try to catch the little,
fluttering things in our apron! And then, later still, came little
apples, very sour at first, but slowly sweetening until it seemed to me
that those juicy, golden-green apples tasted the best of any fruit in
all the world! My apron-pockets were always bursting with them!
There was a famous horse up in the old tree. It could only be reached by
means of a ladder placed against the old tree’s stout trunk! A strange
horse, you would call him, but O, the famous rides that I have had on
that horse’s broad, brown back! The name of the horse was “General.”
Up among the leaves where the sunshine played hide-and-seek was one dear
bough that was just broad enough and just crooked enough to form a nice
seat. Another bough bent round just in the very place to form a most
comfortable back to that seat. A pair of stirrups made of rope, some
rope reins tied to the trunk of the tree, and there was my horse, “all
saddled and all bridled!”
I put my feet into the stirrups, shake my bridle-reins and cry, “Get up,
General!”
The bough would sway a little, and I and the birds would be off
together, swinging and singing, up in a fair green world where there was
no one to disturb nest or little rider! The birds would sing to me, and
I would sing to them, and which of those little singers was the
happiest, I do not know!
But I do know that my little heart was full of glee and joy to the brim!
_Percia V. White._
[Illustration: RIDING “GENERAL.”]
[Illustration]
SHE WISHED TO BE A PRINCESS.
_A True Story._
Little Mary had had a volume of Hans Andersen’s Fairy Stories given her
at Christmas. The story she liked best was “The Princess and the Pea,”
for, like all little girls, little Mary had a natural desire to be a
Princess.
When she went to bed at night with her doll little Mary would think to
herself, “Oh, how beautiful to be a real princess of such very fine
blood as to feel a little bit of a pea under twenty mattresses!”
One morning a comforting idea came to little Mary. “Who knows,” she said
to herself, “with all my very many great grandfathers and grandmothers,
but p’raps I am related to some King or Queen way back?”
Thereupon, she went to her mother’s pantry and took a bean from the
jar—as large a one as she could find—and, going to her room, put it
carefully under the hair mattress. That night she went to bed happy,
with joyful hopes.
In the morning little Mary’s elder sister found her with her head buried
in her pillow crying. “Oh,” little Mary sobbed, “I did think I might
have just a little speck of royal blood in my veins, but I couldn’t feel
even that big bean under just one mattress!”
Nothing would comfort little Mary until her mama explained to her that
even princesses were not happy unless they had good hearts; and _she_
could have, if she tried, just as good and royal a heart as any Princess
under the sun.
_Anne Fiske Davenport._
“HOW MAMA USED TO PLAY.”