beams; her gown is w'ite, and when she moves 'tis as
if forget-me-nots and violets was runnin' in little streams among its
folds. Ah, chillen," the apple woman shook her head, "she's the blessin' o'
the world. Her soft arms are stretched out to gather in and comfort every
sorrowin' heart.

"Well, 'case she was so lovely an' the great King trusted her, Error
thought she'd try her hand; but she hadn't any king, Error hadn't. There
wa'n't nobody to stand for her or to send her on errands. She was a
low-lifed, flabby creetur," the apple woman made a scornful grimace; "jest
a misty-moisty nobody; nothin' to her. Her gown was a cloud and she wa'n't
no more 'n a shadder, herself, until she could git somebody to listen to
her. When she did git somebody to listen to her, she'd begin to stiffen up
and git some backbone and git awful sassy; so she crep' around whisperin'
to folks that Love was no good, and 'lowin' that she--that mis'able
creetur--was the queen o' life.

"Some folks knowed better and told her so, right pine blank, an' then
straight off she'd feel herself changin' back into a shadder, an' sail away
as fast as she could to try it on somebody else. She was ugly to look at as
a bad dream, but yet there was lots o' folks would pay 'tention to her, and
after they'd listened once or twice, she kep' gittin' stronger and pearter,
an' as she got stronger, they got weaker, and every day it was harder fer
'em to drive her off, even after they'd got sick of her.

"Then, even if she didn't have a king, she had slaves; oh, dozens and
dozens of error-fairies, to do her will. Creepin' shadders they was, too,
till somebody listened to 'em and give 'em a backbone. There's--let me
see"--the apple woman looked off to jog her memory--"there's Laziness,
Selfishness, Backbitin', Cruelty--oh, I ain't got time to tell 'em all; an'
not one mite o' harm in one of 'em, only for some silly mortal that listens
and gives the creetur a backbone. They jest lop over an' melt away, the
whole batch of 'em, when Love comes near. She knows what no-account
humbugs they are, you see; and they jest lop over an' melt away whenever
even a little chile knows enough to say 'Go off fum here, an' quit
pesterin''!"

Franz and Emilie stared at the apple woman and listened hard. Their cheeks
matched the apples.

"What happened a minute ago to you-all? An error-creetur named Slap-back
whispered to you. 'Quarrel!' says she. What'd you do? Did you say 'Go off,
yo