The apple woman shook her head.  “That’s the worst of that fairy,” she said.  “Love’ll clar out when you tell ’er to, ‘case she’s quality, an’ she’s got manners; but Slap-back ain’t never had no raisin’.  She hangs around, an’ hangs around, an’ is allers puttin’ in her say jest as she was a few minutes ago with you and Emilie in the road there.  There’s nothin’ in this world tickles her like a chile actin’ naughty, ‘ceptin’ it’s two chillen scrappin’.  Now pore little Dinah found she had to have all her wits about her to keep Love near, an’ make that ornery Slap-back stay away.  Love was as willin’, as willin’ to stay as violets is to open in the springtime; but when Dinah an’ Slap-back was both agin her, what could she do?  An’ Dinah, she’d got so used to Slap-back, an’ that bodacious creetur had sech a way o’ gittin’ around the chile, sometimes, ’fore Dinah knew it, she’d be listenin’ to ‘er ag’in; but Dinah’d had one good scare an’ she didn’t mean to give in.  Jest now, too, her daddy fell sick.  That good man, that lonely man, he’d had a mighty hard time of it, an’ no chile to care or love ’im.”

“Wait,” interrupted Emilie sternly.  “If you are going to let Dinah’s father die, I’m going home.”

The apple woman showed the whites of her eyes in the astonished stare she gave her.

“Because”—­Emilie swallowed and then finished suddenly—­“because it wouldn’t be nice.”

The apple woman looked straight out over her stand.  “Well, he didn’t, an’ Dinah made him mighty glad he got well, too; for she stopped buryin’ her head in pictur’ books, an’ she did errands for gran’mam without whinin’, an’ she minded Mose so her daddy had mo’ peace when he come home tuckered out; an’ when she’d got so she could smile at the boy in the next cabin, ‘stead o’ runnin’ out her tongue at him, the fairy, Love, could stay by without smoochin’ her gown, an’ Slap-back had to melt away an’ sail off to try her capers on some other chile.”

“But you needn’t pretend you saw her with us,” said Franz uneasily.

The apple woman nodded her red bandana wisely.  “Folks that lives outdoors the way I do, honey, sees mo’ than you-all,” she answered.

Emilie ran home ahead of her brother, and softly entered her father’s room.  He was at his desk, as was usual at this hour.  His head leaned on his hand, and he was so deep in his work that he did not notice her quiet entrance.  She curled up on the sofa in her usual attitude, but instead of reading she watched little Peter on the floor building his block house.  His chubby hands worked carefully until the crooked house grew tall, then in turning to find a last block he bumped his head on the corner of a chair.

Emilie watched him rub the hurt place in silence.  Then he got up on his fat legs and went to the desk, where he stood patiently, his round face very red and solemn, while he waited to gain his father’s attention.

At last the busy man became conscious of the child’s presence, and, turning, looked down into the serious eyes.