“Well, ‘case she was so lovely an’ the great King trusted her, Error thought she’d try her hand; but she hadn’t any king, Error hadn’t.  There wa’n’t nobody to stand for her or to send her on errands.  She was a low-lifed, flabby creetur,” the apple woman made a scornful grimace; “jest a misty-moisty nobody; nothin’ to her.  Her gown was a cloud and she wa’n’t no more ’n a shadder, herself, until she could git somebody to listen to her.  When she did git somebody to listen to her, she’d begin to stiffen up and git some backbone and git awful sassy; so she crep’ around whisperin’ to folks that Love was no good, and ‘lowin’ that she—­that mis’able creetur—­was the queen o’ life.

“Some folks knowed better and told her so, right pine blank, an’ then straight off she’d feel herself changin’ back into a shadder, an’ sail away as fast as she could to try it on somebody else.  She was ugly to look at as a bad dream, but yet there was lots o’ folks would pay ’tention to her, and after they’d listened once or twice, she kep’ gittin’ stronger and pearter, an’ as she got stronger, they got weaker, and every day it was harder fer ’em to drive her off, even after they’d got sick of her.

“Then, even if she didn’t have a king, she had slaves; oh, dozens and dozens of error-fairies, to do her will.  Creepin’ shadders they was, too, till somebody listened to ’em and give ’em a backbone.  There’s—­let me see”—­the apple woman looked off to jog her memory—­“there’s Laziness, Selfishness, Backbitin’, Cruelty—­oh, I ain’t got time to tell ’em all; an’ not one mite o’ harm in one of ’em, only for some silly mortal that listens and gives the creetur a backbone.  They jest lop over an’ melt away, the whole batch of ’em, when Love comes near.  She knows what no-account humbugs they are, you see; and they jest lop over an’ melt away whenever even a little chile knows enough to say ‘Go off fum here, an’ quit pesterin’’!”

Franz and Emilie stared at the apple woman and listened hard.  Their cheeks matched the apples.

“What happened a minute ago to you-all?  An error-creetur named Slap-back whispered to you.  ‘Quarrel!’ says she.  What’d you do?  Did you say ’Go off, you triflin’ vilyun’?

“Not a bit of it.  You quarreled; an’ Slap-back kep’ gittin’ bigger and stronger and stiffer in the backbone while you was goin’ it, an’ at last up comes this little hand of Emilie’s.  Whack!  That was the time Slap-back couldn’t hold in, an’ she jest laughed an’ laughed over yo’ shoulder.  Ah, the little red eyes she had, and the wiry hair!  And that other one, the fairy, Love, she was pickin’ up her w’ite gown with both hands an’ flyin’ off as if she had wings.  Of course you didn’t notice her.  You was too taken up with yo’ friend.”

“But Slap-back isn’t our friend,” declared Emilie earnestly.

The apple woman shook her head.  “Bless yo’ heart, honey, it’s mean to deny it now; but, disown her or not, she’ll stick to you and pester you; and you’ll find it out if ever you try to drive her off.  You’ll have as hard a time as little Dinah did.”