"Yes," said Jimmieboy. "I'm very fond of apples--though I can get all I want without earning 'em." "That's true enough," returned the voice; "but an apple you have given you isn't half so good as one you really earn all by yourself--that's why I want you to earn one. Of course I'll give you all the apples I've got, anyhow, but I'd like to have you earn one of 'em, just to show you how much better it tastes because you have earned it." "All right," said Jimmieboy, politely. "I'm very much obliged to you, and I'll earn it if you'll tell me how. But, I say," he added, "I can't see you--who are you?" "Can't see me? That's queer," said the voice. "I'm right here--can't you see the stupid little apple-tree that's keeping the sun off you and stretching its arms up over you?" "Yes," Jimmieboy replied. "I can see that, but I can't see you." "Why, I'm it," said the voice. "It's the stupid little apple-tree that's talking to you. I'm me." Jimmieboy sat up and looked at the tree with a surprised delight. "Oh! that's it, eh?" he said. "You can talk, can you?" "Certainly," said the tree. "You didn't think we poor trees stood out here year in and year out, in cold weather and in warm, in storm and in sunshine, never lying down, always standing, without being allowed to talk, did you? That would be dreadfully cruel. It's bad enough not to be able to move around. Think how much worse it would be if we had to keep silent all that time! You can judge for yourself what a fearfully dull time we would have of it when you consider how hard it is for you to sit still in school for an hour without speaking." "I just simply can't do it," said Jimmieboy. "That's the only thing my teacher don't like about me. She says I'm movey and loquacious." "I don't know what loquacious means," said the tree. "Neither do I," said Jimmieboy, "but I guess it has something to do with talking too much when you hadn't ought to. But tell me, Mr. Tree, how can I earn the apple?" "Don't be so formal," said the tree. "Don't call me Mr. Tree. You've known me long enough to be more intimate." "Very well," said Jimmieboy. "I'll call you whatever you want me to. What shall I call you?" "Call me Stoopy," said the tree, softly. "Stoopy for short. I always liked that name." Jimmieboy laughed. "It's an awful funny name," he said. "Stoopy! Ha-ha-ha! What's it short for?" "Stupid," said the tree. "That is, while it's quite as long as Stupid, it seems shorter. Anyhow, it's more affectionate, and that's why I want you to call me by it." "Very well, Stoopy," said Jimmieboy. "Now, about the apple. Have you got it with you?" "No," returned the tree. "But I'm making it, and it's going to be the finest apple you ever saw. It will have bigger, redder cheeks than any other apple in the world, and it'll have a core in it that will be just as good to eat as marmalade, and it'll be all for you if you'll do something for me to-morrow." "I'll do it if I can," said Jimmieboy.