IN THE ORCHARD

O the apples rosy-red,
O the gnarled trunks grey and brown,
Heavy branchéd overhead;
O the apples rosy-red,
O the merry laughter sped,
As the fruit is showered down!
O the apples rosy-red,
O the gnarled trunks grey and brown.

George Weatherby.

JOHNNY APPLESEED

Josephine Scribner Gates

Once there was a man who was very, very poor. He had been a farmer, and no one raised such fine crops as he did. By and by, in some way, he lost his farm, and was left all alone.

He had always wanted to do some grand thing, something that would make many people happy, but what could he do? He had no money. All he had was a small boat.

As he trudged along one day, he saw some old sacks lying under a tree. As he looked at them he had a splendid thought. A thought that seemed to have wings, and came flying from far away. Oh, it was a beautiful thought, and seemed to be singing a little song in his heart, as he picked up the sacks and placed them in his boat, jumped in himself and floated away.