not waken until the spring. So while the snow whirled high without and piled itself in drifts at door and chimney, Freyo sat patiently carving his great oaken chests and settles. When he carved fields of wheat with wild fowl flying over, the poor lad fancied himself afield once more; when he carved forest scenes, he lived again the memories of his happy summer. If Dame Grumble spoke to her son, it was but to call him wicked and ungrateful. She often vowed she would forgive him if he would but give her the crutches to burn. But Freyo had a plan in mind. With the first sign of spring, he meant to be off and seek his own way in the world, and this he could never do without his precious crutches. The poor lad had no desire to spend another winter with this cross, fault-finding dame.

Now, as was her usual fashion, Dame Grumble spent much time in planning means to spare the blossoms of the Apple Tree. It happened that on her journey she had found a book which told of orchard trees and how to care for them. So in this book Dame Grumble now began to study diligently. She found a picture of an apple tree encased with strong, coarse netting. This strong, coarse netting, so the book said, would protect the fruit and blossoms from all harm. Accordingly, Dame Grumble sat her down before her wheel and spun endless miles of heavy thread. From this she next wove yards upon yards of strong, coarse netting. Often and often Freyo begged his mother to cease this useless labor. The North Wind would soon tear the whole thing into shreds, said he. You may be sure Dame Grumble always had a sharp retort for him.

"Had I a son who was a comfort and a blessing, I have no doubt that he would long ago have found a way to save my precious blossoms from the North Wind," she would say. "I daresay, too, that I would have had a harvest of golden apples long since. Even now I might be dwelling in some noble mansion with slaves to do my bidding and a different carriage for every day in the week!"

So the winter dragged on wearily. At last the snow began to melt, and the sunbeams to make bright spots on the kitchen floor. The hedges here and there showed patches of green leaves; the birds returned from the southland whither they had gone for the winter. Forget-me-nots and brown bells blossomed about the Apple Tree, and the green grass for miles about was thick with yellow buttercups. It was then the Apple Tree awoke from her winter's sleep and decked herself in clouds of fragrant, pinky-white blossoms. Then it was that Dame Grumble went forth from her cottage with yards upon yards of strong, coarse netting with which she covered her favorite tree. Seeing the bare places that marked the two missing branches, she cried out afresh that she was a sad, sorrowful woman and had too many cares.

While Dame Grumble was thus occupied, Freyo unlocked the cupboard where he had hidden his precious crutches. But, alas! The wood of the Apple Tree was not suitable for such use, and the crutches fell to pieces when he touched them. Freyo tried to mend them here and join them there, but it was in vain. They broke again in other places. Now when Dame Grumble learned this, she vowed it was a just punishment for Freyo's disobedience. However, with her usual perverseness, she took no more interest in the crutches. She did not trouble to burn them, and there they lay in the cupboard for many a long day.

"You will obey your mother when she commands, another time, I daresay," she would often remark, and point to the useless, broken things.

Now that spring was come, it was not long before Dame Grumble's old enemy, the North Wind, came also. Shouting and hallooing he blew over the fields and forests one sunshiny day, and when he reached the Apple Tree, he stopped still in amazement.

"Ho! Ho! Ho!" laughed the North Wind, "who has thus cleverly covered the Apple Tree?"

"I have!" shouted Dame Grumble from within her cottage, where she had run to hide. "Now you had best be off, for you can never undo this strong, coarse netting I have woven; it is tied in a thousand tight knots!"

"Ah! is it indeed, Dame Grumble?" inquired the North Wind with mock politeness. "Will you kindly have patience for a little until I try my skill?" With that he blew a blast that unloosed all the yards upon yards of strong, coarse netting and bore them off like puffs of thistledown. Dame Grumble's heart sank; but, strange to say, the North Wind did not blow away the blossoms of the Apple Tree. Instead, he lingered about the cottage until night fell and played all manner of tricks to bring Dame Grumble running out. He blew soot down the chimney and blackened the clean-scrubbed kitchen floor; he put out her candle when she had lighted it for evening; and whisked her linen from the hedges into the fields and far away. Not one word of anger or reproach would Dame Grumble utter, even so. If the North Wind would but spare the blossoms of the Apple Tree, nothing else mattered. At last the North Wind grew weary of his teasing and departed.

"Just you wait, Dame Grumble!" he called in farewell. "Some day I shall catch you unaware, and I will carry you off to that desert island that waits to welcome you as Queen of Grumblers!" Then he blew on his way.

Dame Grumble waited, fearful lest perhaps he would return, but the North Wind returned no more that spring. The blossoms on the Apple Tree began to wither, and presently tiny fruit began to form on its branches. It seemed at last as though Dame Grumble would gather the harvest of golden apples for which she had so longed; but even so, this cross, fault-finding dame was not content.

"Alack!" she often mourned, "if I had had this strong, coarse netting years ago, I would have had many a golden harvest long ere this. Without doubt this covering hath a charm above the power of the North Wind. Had I a son to assist me, I daresay he would have thought about it long since."

"But, Mother, I cannot help it that I am lame and do not assist you," sighed Freyo.

"But you can help it when you are wicked and disobedient; and wicked and disobedient you were when you cut the two stout branches of the Apple Tree. For now, though I shall gather golden apples, there will not be nearly so many because of your rash act."

So the springtime passed and the summertime came. Day by day the fruit on the Apple Tree grew larger, and day by day Dame Grumble took pencil and paper to count the number of apples that hung upon each branch. She tried each day to reckon just how many more she would have had but for the branches Freyo had cut off, and every day she grew vexed afresh. Dame Grumble would not permit Freyo to go near the Apple Tree. She vowed he might take a notion to cut down the whole tree, for all she knew.

The summer grew older; the meadows turned brown, and the fields grew bare. Dame Grumble watched eagerly for a sign which would show that the apples were turning to gold; but no sign she saw. The apples turned bright red instead. The summer began to wane, and a sharp chill in the air warned Dame Grumble that winter was not far away. The maples on the hillsides flamed crimson and scarlet once again, and yellow leaves fell from the poplar trees like rain.

"Now can it be that you are going to disappoint me!" exclaimed Dame Grumble to the Apple Tree. "Why, pray, do not your apples turn to gold?"

"How you talk, Dame Grumble!" replied the Apple Tree. "You will be disappointed no matter what happens! Though I gave you a thousand golden apples, you would never cease to mourn that you might have had a hundred more had not Freyo cut off my two branches. Then you would make the poor