"The young limb!" he mumbled, wrathfully. "If I had him here! If I—"
"There 's no use getting het up, Silas, about that boy. He ain't here, so what 's the good o' swearing that way and saying what you 'd do?"
Miss Arabella was on the point of continuing her discourse when a mealy Strawberry Red, falling apparently from its mother bough, smote her sharply on the head.
"Goodness gracious me!" said Miss Arabella, feeling the spot. "'Bout time this fruit was gettin' canned!"
But the irate old Captain sat up, waving his stick. He was about to enter into a detailed and impassioned account of what he would do, once the fit and proper occasion presented itself, when his eye chanced to fall on some half-dozen apple-cores lying scattered at his feet. His mouth remained open, but this time in silent wonder; and he looked from the tree to the cores, and from the cores back to the tree, and then at Miss Arabella.
Lonely, peering carefully down through the leafy shadows, could make out the strange look, but could not guess at its cause.
