"Pshaw!" said Davy. "There are enough nuts in these woods to feed all the squirrels in the world." III THERE ARE MANY THINGS CALLED FRUITS TRULY October was harvest-time in the little garden. The winter apple-tree yielded several bushels of bright red fruit, and Davy's pumpkin-vine had great yellow pumpkins scattered all about. Some of them Davy could hardly lift, and when they were carried into the cellar, on the very last day of the month, they made a real pyramid of gold. Then there were some late tomatoes, too, and peppers, which big Prue made into pickles; also, a last gathering of green corn, besides several ears of ripe corn, for seed, and all the pop-corn--fifty-five ears of it from Davy's little patch. There were some things to be taken up, too, and put into little pots for the window-gardens, which Davy and Prue were going to have all through the winter, this time. There was a good open fire in the dining-room when Davy came in, after picking his pumpkins, for the nights were getting colder, and the bright blaze seemed so friendly and cheerful. "I am going to try some of my pop-corn," he said suddenly, and started for the popper. "I'll get some apples," said little Prue. "I'll bring some nuts," added the Chief Gardener. "And I'm afraid if you have all those things now, you won't care for tea afterwards," objected big Prue. "Never mind tea," said Davy. "These are the very best things for a fire like this, and then if we don't want tea afterwards it'll save trouble." So the pop-corn and apples and nuts were brought, and the little family gathered about the bright blaze. [Illustration: THE APPLE IS A CALYX. THE PISTIL IS THE CORE INSIDE OF IT] "Just think," said Davy, "it's only a few months ago that I planted this corn, and saw it come up, just little green sprouts, and now it's ripe and in the popper." "And just think," said his mother, "it's a little while ago that the apple-trees were all in bloom so sweet, and now the apples are ripe, and we have them here on a plate." "I like to think about the summer," said little Prue. "It all seems so nice and shiny. It was hot, though, too, sometimes, in the garden." The Chief Gardener picked up one of the apples. "That is a pretty good calyx, Davy," he said. Davy stopped popping corn a minute. His face was rather hot, anyway, from the glowing coals. "Why, I thought that was the pistil," he said. "The pistil is the core inside of it. It is the calyx of the apple-bloom that grows fleshy and makes the best part of the apple." The Chief Gardener cut the apple in half, and showed the faint line that marked the core. "That was the pistil," he said, "and at the end you see there are still the tips of the sepals and little traces of the stamens. The apple is one of our very finest fruits, and we ought to be glad that at least one of the Rose family has such a fine calyx. The rose itself gives us sweet flowers, but its apples would be pretty poor eating. They are called hips."