Especially did Emilie fly to this refuge in papa’s room after a quarrel with Franz, and I’m sorry to say she had a great many.  The apple woman found out that the little brother and sister were not always amiable.  Anna had confided in her; and then one day the children approached her stand contradicting each other, their voices growing louder and louder as they came, until at last Franz made a face at Emilie, giving her a push, and she, quick as a kitten, jumped forward and slapped him.

What Franz would have done after this I don’t know, if the apple woman hadn’t said, “Chillen, chillen!” so loud that he stopped to look at her.

“Ah, listen at that fairy Slap-back a-laughin’!” cried the apple woman.

“The fairy Flapjack?” asked Franz, as he and his sister forgot their wrath and ran toward the stand.

“Flapjack!” repeated the apple woman with scorn, as the children nestled down, one each side of her.  “Yo’ nice chillen pertendin’ not to know yo’ friends!”

“What friends?  What?” asked Emilie eagerly.

“The fairy Slap-back.  P’raps I didn’t see her jest now, a-grinnin’ over yo’ shoulder.”

“Is she anybody to be afraid of?” asked Emilie, big-eyed.

“To be sho’ she is if you-all go makin’ friends with her,” returned the apple woman, with a knowing sidewise nod of her head.  Then drawing back from the children with an air of greatest surprise, “You two don’t mean to come here tellin’ me you ain’t never heerd o’ the error-fairies?” she asked.

“Never,” they both replied together.

“Shoo!” exclaimed the apple woman.  “If you ain’t the poor igno’antest w’ite chillen that ever lived.  Why, if you ain’t never heerd on ’em, yo’re likely to be snapped up by ’em any day in the week as you was jest now.”

“Oh, tell us.  Do tell us!” begged Franz and Emilie.

“Co’se I will, ’case ’t ain’t right for them mis’able creeturs to be hangin’ around you all, and you not up to their capers.  Fust place they’re called the error-fairies ’case they’re all servants to a creetur named Error.  She’s a cheat and a humbug, allers pertendin’ somethin’ or other, and she makes it her business to fight a great and good fairy named Love.  Now Love—­oh, chillen, my pore tongue can’t tell you of the beauty and goodness o’ the fairy Love!  She’s the messenger of a great King, and spends her whole time a-blessin’ folks.  Her hair shines with the gold o’ the sun; her eyes send out soft beams; her gown is w’ite, and when she moves ’tis as if forget-me-nots and violets was runnin’ in little streams among its folds.  Ah, chillen,” the apple woman shook her head, “she’s the blessin’ o’ the world.  Her soft arms are stretched out to gather in and comfort every sorrowin’ heart.