"Don't tommyrot me, ma'm! I say somebody's been at my tree!"
And in proof of his assertion he thrust a well-munched core before her skeptical eyes.
"An' the cannin' factory buyin' this fruit at four dollars a bushel!" he went on, indignantly.
But the spirit of peace had already taken possession of Miss Arabella's soul.
"Well, what 's an apple or two, anyway, Silas? I s'pose it 's been that O'Malley kid, or some other young thief!"
A large ripe apple fell and went into a dozen pieces on the back of Miss Arabella's rocker.
"And it 's time them Strawberry Reds were picked, anyway!" she announced, with decision.
She turned again to her "Family Guardian." The old Captain, finding his muttered thunderings elicited no response, settled himself back in his chair, and was soon sending forth sonorous and rhythmical snores. Miss Arabella now and then turned a page. Lonely began to itch, and scratched himself cautiously. It was hot and close up among the dense foliage, and his legs were getting stiff and cramped.
