“What happened to Dinah?” asked Franz, picking up the apple woman’s clean towel and beginning to polish apples.

“Drop that, now, chile!  Yo’ friend might cast her eye on it.  I don’t want to sell pizened apples.”

Franz, crestfallen, obeyed, and glanced at Emilie.  They had never before found their assistance refused, and they both looked very sober.

“Little Dinah was a chile lived ’way off down South ’mongst the cotton fields; and that good fairy watched over Dinah,—­Love, so sweet to look at she’d make yo’ heart sing.

“Dinah had a little brother, too, jest big enough to walk; an’ a daddy that worked from mornin’ till night to git hoe-cake ’nuff fer ’em all; and his ole mammy, she helped him, and made the fire, and swept the room, and dug in the garden, and milked the cow.  She was a good woman, that ole mammy, an’ ’t was a great pity there wa’n’t nobody to help ‘er, an’ she gittin’ older every day.”

“Why, there was Dinah,” suggested Emilie.

The apple woman stared at her with both hands raised.  “Dinah!  Lawsy massy, honey, the only thing that chile would do was look at pictur’ books an’ play with the other chillen.  She wouldn’t even so much as pick up baby Mose when he tumbled down an’ barked his shin.  Oh, but she was a triflin’ lazy little nigger as ever you see.”

“And that’s why the red-eyed fairy got hold of her,” said Franz, who was longing to hear something exciting.

“‘Twas, partly,” said the apple woman.  “You see there’s somethin’ very strange about them fairies, Love and the error-fairies.  The error-fairies, they run after the folks that love themselves, and Love can only come near them that loves other people.  Sounds queer, honey, but it’s the truth; so, when Dinah got to be a likely, big gal, and never thought whether the ole mammy was gittin’ tired out, or tried to amuse little Mose, or gave a thought o’ pity to her pore daddy who was alone in the world, the fairy Love got to feelin’ as bad as any fairy could.

“‘Do, Dinah,’” she said, with her sweet mouth close to Dinah’s ear, ’do stop bein’ so triflin’, and stir yo’self to be some help in the house.’

“‘No,’ says Dinah, ’I like better to lay in the buttercups and look at pictur’s,’ says she.

“‘Then,’ says Love, ‘show Mose the pictur’s, too, and make him happy.’

“‘No,’ says Dinah, ‘he’s too little, an’ he bothers me an’ tears my book.’

“‘Then,’ says Love, ‘yo’d rather yo’ tired daddy took care o’ the chile after his hard day’s work.’

“‘Now yo’re talkin’,’ says Dinah.  ‘I shorely would.  My daddy’s strong.’

“The tears came into Love’s eyes, she felt so down-hearted.  ‘Yo’ daddy needs comfort, Dinah,’ she says, ‘an’ yo’re big enough to give it to him,’ says she; ‘an’ look at the black smooches on my w’ite gown.  They’re all because o’ you, Dinah, that I’ve been friends with so faithful.  I’ve got to leave you now, far enough so’s my gown’ll come w’ite; but if you call me I’ll hear, honey, an’ I’ll come.  Good-by,’