, "I
have just been thinking those apples up. I can starve Lovey and myself
enough to get the things for the crust, but where are the apples to
come from? Won't it be fun to look back from richness and remember
when an apple looked as big as one of the Harpeth Hills?"

"But, haven't you got any apple plan at all?" I again forgot my
resolve and asked. I'm often ashamed of myself for being so practical
about things, but I can't help it, and I couldn't see those pies
coming down on a rainbow. She had to have the apples to save her
family pride, and apples don't grow on dream trees.

"Not a plan," she answered, snipping a thread with a steady hand. "But
they'll come from some place. Now, I've got to think up stories to
make Lovey forget that he wants anything but some corn-bread and
buttermilk for supper. That'll save the batter-cake flour for the
pie-crust and some of the lard and butter too. If I can amuse him past
breakfast with just corn meal mush, I'll have enough flour for them
all. Uncle Pompey has lots of spice and things, so it'll only be the
apples. Maybe I can--"

"Wait a minute, I've got a plan!" I exclaimed quickly; for being
Roxanne's friend often makes me need to think very quickly indeed.
"You go on believing they'll come, and your believing and my plan will
be almost sure to get them. I'll have to go home right now."

"Your plan won't make me have to--to let anybody give them to me, will
it, Phyllis?" And Roxanne's eyes were so soft with entreaty to spare
that family pride that I had to swallow the inconvenient lump in my
throat again. I wish my eyes knew how to mist with tears like a girl's
ought to do instead of my choking up like a boy. But I had my voice
good and steady by the time I got opposite Father across his office
table.

"And so," he said, as he looked at me with an expression I feel on
myself when I am going to take hold of some of the knots in Roxanne's
affairs, "I am to buy two barrels of apples here in the spring when
they are gold nuggets, and help you pack up ten baskets of them for me
to send to the furnace office force as a seasonable compliment, just
so that stiff-necked young Byrd can carry his family pride along home
in the basket with the apples for the making of six pies. Right
expensive pies, those!"

"Yes, Father, I know they are," I answered firmly but pathetically.
"But I told you Lovelace Peyton and Roxanne are starving to save the
crust; and my friends' troubles are mi