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AUNT GRENERTSEN’S APPLES 57
thing, but he would like to, too. He hadn’t a
cent in his bank. What few cents he had saved
had all been poked out long since, and he hadn’t
anything else either. Well, yes, he had that fine
new cake of India ink Father had just given
him; but Aunt Grenertsen surely did not draw
with India ink.
There! Now he had an idea. She should have
that rare postage stamp from Mozambique,
she certainly should! The whole class and
some of the big boys envied him his
possession of that stamp and had begged and begged
for it; but not one of them should get it, no
indeed!
He found an old pill box, laid the Mozambique
stamp carefully in it, and ran straightway to
King Street.
Everything was as usual. He could scarcely
bear to look at the tree he had gathered the fruit
from, but finding two apples on the ground
under the other tree, he picked them up and
took them into the house. He certainly wasn’t
going to eat any more of Aunt Grenertsen’s
apples.
"Good afternoon, Aunt Grenertsen."
"Oh, is that you, back here already?"
"I found these apples out in the garden."
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