to kiss Mother Blossom and to take an old rusty shovel which was
Bobby's chief treasure, they ran off. Dot and Twaddles were down
at the wharf waiting to see Captain Jenks and his motor-boat, a
daily habit which was encouraged by the captain, who usually
brought them some little treat.

"We'll go around the other side of the island, and they won't see
us," said Meg, the general. "It isn't much longer, really."

The other side of the island was rockier, though, and the bushes
were thicker. Still, Meg and Bobby managed to scramble though, and
half an hour's steady tramping brought them to the Harley shack.

"It keeps falling apart," mourned Meg; and indeed the place looked
worse every time they visited it.

"Apples!" shouted Bobby, running forward to look under the gnarled
trees. "Apples, Meg! Big ones!"

"They're not ripe," said Meg promptly. "'Sides, they're not ours--
they belong to Mr. Harley. Daddy says everything here belongs to
him."

"I guess they are green," admitted Bobby, who had tried in vain to
soften one in his fingers. "But apples belong to anybody, Meg."

"They do not!" contradicted Meg. "Why, Bobby Blossom! how can you
talk like that? Don't you remember when you and Twaddles were in
the fruit store with Daddy last Spring and Twaddles took a
strawberry from one of the boxes because he saw another boy do it?