_THE STUPID LITTLE APPLE-TREE_
Jimmieboy was playing in the orchard, and, as far as the birds and the
crickets and the tumble-bugs could see, was as happy as the birds, as
lively as the crickets, and as tumbly as the tumble-bugs. In fact, one
of the crickets had offered to bet an unusually active tumble-bug that
Jimmieboy could give him ten tumbles start and beat him five in a
hundred, but the tumble-bug was a good little bug and wouldn't bet.
"I'm put here to tumble," said he. "That's my work in life, and I'm
going to stick to it. Other creatures may be able to tumble better than
I can, but that isn't going to make any difference to me. So long as I
do the best I can, I'm satisfied. If you want to bet, go bet with the
dandelions. They've got more gold in 'em than we tumble-bugs have."
Now, whether it was the sweet drowsiness of the afternoon, or the
unusual number of tumbles he took on the soft, carpet-like grass in and
out among the apple-trees, neither Jimmieboy nor I have ever been able
to discover, but all of a sudden Jimmieboy thought it would be pleasant
to rest awhile; and to accomplish this desirable end he could think of
nothing better than to throw himself down at the foot of what he had
always called the stupid little apple-tree. It was a very pretty tree,
but it was always behind-time with its blossoms. All the other trees in
the orchard burst out into bloom at the proper time, but the stupid
little apple-tree, like a small boy in school who isn't as smart as some
other boys, was never ready, when the others were, and that was why
Jimmieboy called it stupid.
"Jimmieboy! Jimmieboy!"
He turned about to see who had addressed him, but there was nothing in
sight but a huge bumblebee, and he was entirely too busy at his daily
stint to be wasting any time on Jimmieboy.
"Who are you? What do you want?" Jimmieboy asked.
"I'm--I'm a friend of yours," said the voice. "Oh, a splendid friend of
yours, even if I am stupid. Do you want to earn an apple?"
"Yes," said Jimmieboy. "I'm very fond of apples--though I can get all I
want without earning 'em."
"That's true enough," returned the voice; "but an apple you have given
you isn't half so good as one you really earn all by yourself--that's
why I want you to earn one. Of course I'll give you all the apples I've
got, anyhow, but I'd like to have you earn one of 'em, just to show you
how much better it tastes because you have earned it."
"All right," said Jimmieboy, politely. "I'm very much obliged to you,
and I'll earn it if you'll tell me how. But, I say," he added, "I can't
see you--who are you?"
"Can't see me? That's queer," said the voice. "I'm right here--can't you
see the stupid little apple-tree that's keeping the sun off you and
stretching its arms up over you?"
"Yes," Jimmieboy replied. "I can see that, but I can't see you."
"Why, I'm it," said the voice. "It's the stupid little apple-tree that's
talking to you. I'm me."
Jimmieboy sat up and looked at the tree with a surprised delight. "Oh!
that's it, eh?" he said. "You can talk, can you?"
"Certainly," said the tree. "You didn't think we poor trees stood out
here year in and year out, in cold weather and in warm, in storm and in
sunshine, never lying down, always standing, without being allowed to
talk, did you? That would be dreadfully cruel. It's bad enough not to be
able to move around. Think how much worse it would be if we had to keep
silent all that time! You can judge for yourself what a fearfully dull
time we would have of it when you consider how hard it is for you to sit
still in school for an hour without speaking."
"I just simply can't do it," said Jimmieboy. "That's the only thing my
teacher don't like about me. She says I'm movey and loquacious."
"I don't know what loquacious means," said the tree.
"Neither do I," said Jimmieboy, "but I guess it has something to do
with talking too much when you hadn't ought to. But tell me, Mr. Tree,
how can I earn the apple?"
"Don't be so formal," said the tree. "Don't call me Mr. Tree. You've
known me long enough to be more intimate."
"Very well," said Jimmieboy. "I'll call you whatever you want me to.
What shall I call you?"
"Call me Stoopy," said the tree, softly. "Stoopy for short. I always
liked that name."
Jimmieboy laughed. "It's an awful funny name," he said. "Stoopy!
Ha-ha-ha! What's it short for?"
"Stupid," said the tree. "That is, while it's quite as long as Stupid,
it seems shorter. Anyhow, it's more affectionate, and that's why I want
you to call me by it."
"Very well, Stoopy," said Jimmieboy. "Now, about the apple. Have you
got it with you?"
"No," returned the tree. "But I'm making it, and it's going to be the
finest apple you ever saw. It will have bigger, redder cheeks than any
other apple in the world, and it'll have a core in it that will be just
as good to eat as marmalade, and it'll be all for you if you'll do
something for me to-morrow."
"I'll do it if I can," said Jimmieboy.
"Of course--that's what I mean," said Stoopy. "Nobody can do a thing he
can't do; and if you find that you can't do it, don't do it; you'll get
the apple just the same, only you won't have earned it, and it may not
seem so good, particularly the core. I suppose you know that to-morrow
is Decoration Day?"
"Yes, indeed," said Jimmieboy. "Mamma's going to send a lot of flowers
to the Committee, and papa's going to take me to see the soldiers, and
after that I'm going over to the semingary to see them decorate the
graves."
"That's what I thought," said the tree, with a sigh. "I wish I could go.
There's nothing I'd like to do better than to go over there and drop a
lot of blossoms around on the graves of the men who went to war and lost
their lives so that you might have a country, and we trees could grow in
peace without being afraid of having a cannon-ball shot into us, cutting
us in two--but I want to tell you a little story about all that. You
didn't know I was planted by a little boy who went to the war and got
killed, did you?"
"No," returned Jimmieboy, softly. "I didn't know that. I asked papa one
day who planted you, and he said he guessed you just grew."
"Well, that's true, I did just grow," said Stoopy, "but I had to be
planted first, and I was planted right here by a little boy only ten
years old. He was awfully good to me, too. He used to take care of me
just as if I were a little baby. I wasn't more than half as tall as he
was when he set me out here, and I was his tree, and he was proud as
could be to feel that he owned me; and he used to tell me that when I
grew big and had apples he was going to sell the apples and buy nice
things for his mother with the money he got for 'em. We grew up
together. He took such good care of me that I soon got to be taller than
he was, and the taller I became the prouder he was of me. Oh, he was a
fine boy, Jimmieboy, and as he grew up his mother and father were
awfully proud of him. And then the war broke out. He was a little over
twenty years old then, and he couldn't be kept from going to fight. He
joined the regiment that was raised here, and after a little while he
said good-by to his mother and father, and then he came out here to me
and put his arms around my trunk and kissed me good-by too, and he
plucked a little sprig of leaves from one of my branches and put it in
his buttonhole, and then he went away. That was the last time I saw him.
He was killed in his first battle."
Here Stoopy paused for an instant, and trembled a little, and a few
blossoms fell like trickling tear-drops, and fluttered softly to the
ground.
"They brought him home and buried him out there in the semingary," the
tree added, "and that was the end of it. His father and mother didn't
live very long after that, and then there wasn't anybody to take care of
his grave any more. When that happened, I made up my mind that I'd do
what I could; but around here all the apple-blossoms are withered and
gone by the time Decoration Day comes, and nobody would take plain
leaves like mine to put on a soldier's grave, so I began to put off
blossoming until a little later than the other trees, and that's how I
came to be called the stupid little apple-tree. Nobody knew why I did
it, but I did, and so I didn't mind being called stupid. I was doing it
all for him, and every year since then I've been late, but on Decoration
Day I've always had blossoms ready. The trouble has been, though, that
nobody has ever come for 'em, and I've had all my work and trouble so
far for nothing. It's been a great disappointment."
"I see," said Jimmieboy, softly. "What you want me to do is to take some
of your blossoms over there to-morrow and put 'em--put 'em where you
want 'em put."
"That's it, that's it!" cried the stupid little apple-tree, eagerly.
"Oh, if you only will, Jimmieboy!"
"Indeed I will," said Jimmieboy. "I'll come here in the morning and
gather up the blossoms, and take every one you have ready over in a
basket, and I'll get papa to find out where your master's grave is, and
he'll have every one of them."
"Thank you, thank you," returned Stoopy; "and you'll find that all I've
said about your apple will come true, and after this I'll be _your_ tree
forever and forever."
Jimmieboy was about to reply, when an inconsiderate tumble-bug tripped
over his hand, which lay flat on the grass, and in an instant all of the
boy's thoughts on the subject fled from his mind, and he found himself
sitting up on the grass, gazing sleepily about him. He knew that he had
probably been dreaming, although he is by no means certain that that was
the case, for, as if to remind him of his promise, as he started to
rise, a handful of blossoms loosened by the freshening evening breezes
came fluttering down into his lap, and the little lad resolved that,
dream or no dream, he would look up the whereabouts of the young
soldier-boy's grave, and would decorate it with apple-blossoms, and
these from the stupid little apple-tree only.
And that is why one long-forgotten soldier's grave in the cemetery
across the hills back of Jimmieboy's house was white and sweetly
fragrant with apple-blossoms when the sun had gone down upon Decoration
Day.
As for the stupid little apple-tree, it is still at work upon the
marvelously red-cheeked apple which Jimmieboy is to claim as his reward.