Jasper County Democrat, Volume 15, Number 62, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 November 1912 — UNDER APPLE TREE IN OLD ORCHARD [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

UNDER APPLE TREE IN OLD ORCHARD

Trespasser Was Not One of the “Seven Sleepers.”

By CATHERINE COOPE.

Joan sped down through the riot of flowers to the foot of the garden path; there, she stopped to catch her breath before continuing on through the hawthorn lanes that led to the fruit orchard. Her wide garden hat had slipped from its nest of spun gold ringlets and her heart beat joyously with the pulse of spring. She stood for a moment poised under the old ivy-covered arch that admitted her to the orchard and drew in long breaths of delight. The great gnarled trees were weighted with blossoms and the air was heavy with the sweetness of their perfume.

Joan made a swift dart and with the agility of a squirrel climbed into the topmost branches of her favorite tree. There she sighed happily, then laughed at the shower of pink and white petals that her ascent brought down.

“Now I am monarch of all I survey,” she told herself gleefully, and settled herself in the secure seat the gardener had 'made for her. Because their orchard was only a sixteenth part of the original orchard that had been the pride of the onetime Lamberth estate, it was not walled in, but merely inclosed by hawthorn hedges. Joan regretted that necessity had called for a division of the property, yet she rejoiced that the lot which her grandmother had purchased possessed the most beautiful tree in the entire orchard. She gazed out over the vista of pink and white, and from her high perch could see the various winding lanes that divided the properties. Suddenly she leaned forward, her eyes focused upon a figure that was moving about among the private gardens.

"He must be trespassing," was Joan’s mental comment. “I have never seen hteu before.”

She watched him Intently, half out of fvuMup interest for a masculine person and half because of the pe-

culiar actions of the man. He stood quite still for moments at a time, apparently gazing at the wonder of the orchard, but suddenly he would dart toward a specific tree and make numerous circuits about its base.

Joan began to fear for his sanity and for her own safety. Certainly his actions were not those of an evenly balanced man. She felt reasonably sure that neither an Insane nor a sane man would catch sight of her In her bower of thick foliage, but her heart beat rapidly. “You never can tell,’’ she told herself “what any man is likely to see.” With considerable trepidation she watched the man drawing gradually nearer and nearer to her retreat,. Would he or would he not venture within her grandmother’s private orchard? Joan felt reasonably sure now that the trespasser was mentally unbalanced. i “He is coming In!” Joan caught a sharp breath and drew up Into the branches of her tree. He seemed to catch sight of the great tree the moment he stood within the arch and made straight for it. As he came forward, Joan again drew a quick breath. The man was undoubtedly good to look at and his shoulders were big and broad. He had taken off his qap and the sun shone on a head-of thick, red-brown hair. Joan’s grandmother had a miniature of a man with just such a head of hair. The girl in the tree-top sighed, partly because she felt a strong desire to drop twigs down on the goodlooking young fellow whose wanderings had brought him into her garden. “But I do not dare,” she told herself and realized that her fear of the man had vanished, “I suppose his eyes are brown,” Joan decided. She leaned forward cautibusly and watched him prowling about the foot of the tree. Suddenly he threw himself down on the wide bench that encircled the tree. “Discovered!” she heard him mutter, and peered down to see him draw a great knife from his pocket. He brandiished it about and the blood in Joan’s veind stood still. He opened the evil-looking blade and ran his finger along it. Joan gripped the branches to keep from tumbling headlong out of the tree.

The man was silent for a moment, then’ he began very calmly to carve his initials in the bark of the tree. The blood in Joan’s veins took up Its course and she drew a long breath of relief. “Rather nervy, however,” she commented, forgetting that her grandmother abominated slang. Evidently the young man had finished his carving for he returned his knife to his pocket and cast a glance about the orchard. Seeing no one about, he threw himself full length on the soft turf and prepared for a nap. “I certainly hope he is not one of the seven sleepers,” Joan thought petulantly, "my left foot is already asleep—Oh-h!” She uttered a half cry and tried to drag her foot from the crutch of the branch into which she had pressed it.

The young man below blinked his eyes in the sunlight, then sat bolt upright. His eyes, blue as the summer shy, gazed up into the branches of the tree as if an apparition had suddenly appeared.

“My foot is caught,” cried Joan, accusingly, "and y*ou did it!” “I!” The man’s breathless ejaculation brought the color to Joan’s cheeks. She frowned' "Besides,” he continued, “you have been trespassing for the last half hour.’*

A slow smile dawned in the man’s eyes, as if he were glad that he had been watched for so long a time. Joan blushed furiously at herself, then retreated behind a mask of light fabrication. "I suppose you were going to take some of the apple blossoms for a wedding or something—so 1 kept my eye on you,” she finished, lamely. “Not both eyes?” he questioned, with a merry’ look. He was suddenly serious. “But this is not getting your foot out of the branches of my grandfather’s tree.” He climbed up with a quick movement and placed himself beside her before Joan could gasp indignantly:

“Your grandfather’s tree, Indeed! It is my very own grandmother’s tree and she did all her courting under it on that very branch,” Joan informed the young man’s back, "but she didn’t marry the man.”

He turned about, having extricated her ankle from the crutch and gazed back at her.

"In that case,” he Informed her, “it was your grandmother who jilted my grandfather because he lost all his money and had to sell the Lambreth estate.”

“She did no such thing,” retorted Joan. “She gazes at his mlnature every day In this world." She cast a quick glance at him. “I know now,” she exclaimed, “you look exactly like that miniature.”

“My grandfather was 1 very handsome,” laughed young Lambreth; then growing serious again, he continued: “When he sent me to England he told me very particularly to look for this tree, which he said bore the best apples in the whole orchard, also to look closely to see his Initials carved with those of the only girl he ever loved.”

“When the estate was cut up into building lots,” said Joan, taking up the thread of the story, “my grandmother made a bid for this especial piece because it had that tree on It.” “I have carved my initials on it,” said Lambreth, “and they look a bit lonesome." His eyes met her appealingly. ,

“We will go in now and have tea and a proper introduction from my grandmother, and after that we will discuss whose initials would look well entwined with yours.” “That discussion will be short. Come,” he said, “give me your hand* —I want to help you down from the apple blossoms.” (Copyright, 1912, by Associated Literary Press.)

“Now I Am Monarch of All I Survey."