"Ach, I don't mean that way, Mom," the child said wisely. "You always
say abody must like everybody, but I mean like him for real, like him
so you want to be near him. He's good lookin'. At school he's about the
best lookin' boy there. The big girls say he's a regular Dunnis,
whatever that is. But I think sometimes he ain't so pretty under the
looks, the way he acts and all, Mom."

"I know what you mean, Amanda. Your pop used to say still that people
are like apples, some can fool you good. Remember some we peeled
to-night were specked and showed it on the outside, but some were
red and pretty and when you cut in them--"

"They were full of worms or rotten!"

"Yes. It's the hearts of people that makes them beautiful."

"I see, Mom, and I'll mind to remember that. I'm gettin' to know a lot
o' things now, Mom, ain't? I like when you tell me things my pop said.
I'm glad I was big enough to remember him. I know yet what nice eyes he
had, like they was always smilin' at you. I wish he wouldn't died, but
I'm glad he's not dead for always. People don't stay dead like peepies
or birds, do they?"

"No, they'll live again some day." The mother's voice was low, but a
divine trust shone in her eyes. "Life would be nothing if it could end
for us like it does for the birds."

"Millie says the souls of people can't die. That it's with people just
like it's with the apple trees. In winter they look dead and like all