And the first words I could say were 'Mi pommier a Malie.' Before many years there were apples, not so fine at the first, of course, but every year they grew finer and finer, and always they were for me.

What we did not eat were sold, and the money given to me to keep for the Carnival, when the bon papa would take me to the town to see the sights." "And did you grow finer and finer too, Marie ?" said Sylvia.
Marie smiled.
"I grew strong and tall, Mademoiselle," she said.

"As for more than that it is not for me to say.

But _they_ all thought so, the father and mother and the eight brothers, and the bon papa, of course, most of all.

And so you see, Mademoiselle, the end was I got spoilt." "But the apple-tree didn't ?" "No, the apple-tree did its work well.