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John now started on his way to Kingthorpe. One of his pockets was weighted down with a big cornucopia of dates, for he planned to drop in at Tellef’s on his way home; and from another pocket protruded the greater portion of the frame he was to present to Uncle Isaac. "There is no greater proof of intelligence, madam, than the belief that we have it not; it is the nature of that gift, that the more we have, the more we believe ourselves to be without it." “Far out against the sky,” repeated Grandmother, staring with her sightless eyes. Then she sat down to rest, with her hands folded under her apron and her face still turned seaward, while Tellef and Johnny Blossom played about in the heather. He was just sick and tired of seeing those apples in that good-for-nothing garden. Good-for-nothing it certainly was, and very, very old. There was only one apple tree besides the one Johnny was so interested in, but its fruit could scarcely be called apples at all. He would call them croquet balls—such hard green things as they were—hard as rocks. Of course if any of them were on the ground, he bit into them. In fact, he had eaten a good many of them first and last, but they were horrid things, anyway..