CHAPTER ELEVEN.
MAKING THINGS RIGHT.
Just at that moment I fancied that I heard a sort of laugh from up in the other tree, but my eyes were fixed upon Old Brownsmith, and I had a large piece of apple in my mouth that I dared not begin to chew.
He stood looking at me as I stood there, feeling three of his cats come and begin rubbing themselves up against my legs in the most friendly way, while I felt as if my misfortunes were being piled up one on the top of the other.
From previous conversations I had gathered that he expected the boys to now and then eat a little fruit, and there was no harm in it; but it seemed so hard that the very first time I tasted an apple he should be standing there watching me.
"Dinner's ready," he said suddenly; "come along." "Shall I leave the baskets here, sir ?" I said.
"Yes; just as they are." He stooped down and examined the apples, turning them over a little.
"Hah! yes," he said; "nicely picked.

That will do.

You've got on too." He went on, and I was following behind the cats, but he drew on one side to let me walk by him.
"Eat your apple," he said smiling, as he looked sidewise at me.

"Only we always pick out the ugliest fruit and vegetables for home use, and send the best-looking to market." "I'll remember that, sir," I said.
"Do, Grant, my lad.

You will not lose by it, for I'll tell you something.