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For that matter, neither was she. She was not really his aunt and he was glad of it; but she was Mother’s aunt, and so all the family called her Aunt Grenertsen, just as Mother did. It wasn’t long before there were children in the trees everywhere, shaking the branches, throwing the fruit down to the grassy ground, where their fathers and mothers sat laughing and wondering at everything. To the children it was all like a fairy tale. There were dances and games and every kind of jollity under the stately old trees, and it took some skill to get the people to their places when the feast was ready. “And leave the Service?” put in Bob. “I don’t see how you could. It’s the finest—”.

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They stole glances at Aunt Grenertsen’s window. Fortunately, she was not looking out and so had not seen the unlucky outcome of this attempt. Hastily thrusting the eight apples into their blouses, they both climbed the tree again and stretched and reached their utmost till one branch broke and the boys nearly tumbled from the tree. “Who were they?” Then Bob told him the news that he had been saving for next Sunday. “Come along to the Quarter-house with me and feed, and then we’ll go hunt Whiskers—I mean Mr. Whitney.” Bob was looking into the glowing coals, thinking over the events of the day, which, since they had turned out safely, were now to be treasured as great adventures. Jerry for his part was lying looking up at the narrow strip of star-lit sky showing between the edges of the canyon’s top. Suddenly he rolled over and put his hand on his companion’s shoulder..