So he sat down on a log in a shady fence corner, and took a green apple from his pocket.

He rolled it around in his hands and over his face, enjoying its tempting odor before he stuck his little white teeth into it.

The first bite was so sour that it drew his face all up into a pucker and made his eyes water.

He raised his hand to throw it away, but paused with his arm in the air to listen.

Somebody was playing on the organ in the church a few rods up the hill.
It was a quaint little stone church, all overgrown with ivy, that the Chadwicks had built generations ago.