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“I can never be as kind as Uncle Isaac!” There was Mother at the door again. The Apache chief had sent his braves ahead, telling them to go separately to the point he mentioned and not to do more until he gave the signal. Therefore, only the two boys were left to go with him. It was a little farther to go home around past Aunt Grenertsen’s, but he didn’t mind that, for it was interesting to watch how the apples grew and to see whether Katrina had gathered any. But day after day everything remained exactly the same. There hung the apples still—the only change being that they grew riper and riper and more tempting. Aunt Grenertsen sat gazing out of her window from behind the plants, and old Katrina, grumpy as ever, stood at the kitchen window peering over the sash curtain, in exactly the same way every day..