without knowing it. When I see a particularly mean man carrying a
load of fair and fragrant early apples to market, I seem to see a
contest going on between him and his horse, on the one side, and the
apples on the other, and, to my mind, the apples always gain it.
Pliny says that apples are the heaviest of all things, and that the
oxen begin to sweat at the mere sight of a load of them. Our driver
begins to lose his load the moment he tries to transport them to
where they do not belong, that is, to any but the most beautiful.
Though he gets out from time to time, and feels of them, and thinks
they are all there, I see the stream of their evanescent and
celestial qualities going to heaven from his cart, while the pulp
and skin and core only are going to market. They are not apples, but
pomace. Are not these still Iduna's apples, the taste of which keeps
the gods forever young? and think you that they will let Loki or
Thjassi carry them off to Jotunheim, [Footnote: Jotunheim (Ye(r)t'-
un-hime) in Scandinavian mythology was the home of the Jotun or
Giants. Loki was a descendant of the gods, and a companion of the
Giants. Thjassi (Tee-assy) was a giant.] while they grow wrinkled
and gray? No, for Ragnarok, or the destruction of the gods, is not
yet.

There is another thinning of the fruit, commonly near the end of
August or in September, when the ground is strewn with windfalls;
and this happens especially when high winds occur after rain. In
some orchards you may see fully three quarters of the whole crop on
the ground, lying in a circular form beneath the trees, yet hard and
green,--or, if it is a hillside, rolled far down the hill. However,
it is an ill wind that blows nobody any good. All the country over,
people are busy picking up the windfalls, and this will make them
cheap for early apple-pies.