Bikey the Skicycle and Other Tales of Jimmieboy Part 25

"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 suns.h.i.+ne, 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.

"Of course--that's what I mean," said Stoopy. "n.o.body can do a thing he can't do; and if you find that you can't do it, don't do it; you'll get the apple just the same, only you won't have earned it, and it may not seem so good, particularly the core. I suppose you know that to-morrow is Decoration Day?"

"Yes, indeed," said Jimmieboy. "Mamma's going to send a lot of flowers to the Committee, and papa's going to take me to see the soldiers, and after that I'm going over to the semingary to see them decorate the graves."

"That's what I thought," said the tree, with a sigh. "I wish I could go.

There's nothing I'd like to do better than to go over there and drop a lot of blossoms around on the graves of the men who went to war and lost their lives so that you might have a country, and we trees could grow in peace without being afraid of having a cannon-ball shot into us, cutting us in two--but I want to tell you a little story about all that. You didn't know I was planted by a little boy who went to the war and got killed, did you?"

"No," returned Jimmieboy, softly. "I didn't know that. I asked papa one day who planted you, and he said he guessed you just grew."

"Well, that's true, I did just grow," said Stoopy, "but I had to be planted first, and I was planted right here by a little boy only ten years old. He was awfully good to me, too. He used to take care of me just as if I were a little baby. I wasn't more than half as tall as he was when he set me out here, and I was his tree, and he was proud as could be to feel that he owned me; and he used to tell me that when I grew big and had apples he was going to sell the apples and buy nice things for his mother with the money he got for 'em. We grew up together. He took such good care of me that I soon got to be taller than he was, and the taller I became the prouder he was of me. Oh, he was a fine boy, Jimmieboy, and as he grew up his mother and father were awfully proud of him. And then the war broke out. He was a little over twenty years old then, and he couldn't be kept from going to fight. He joined the regiment that was raised here, and after a little while he said good-by to his mother and father, and then he came out here to me and put his arms around my trunk and kissed me good-by too, and he plucked a little sprig of leaves from one of my branches and put it in his b.u.t.tonhole, and then he went away. That was the last time I saw him.

He was killed in his first battle."

Here Stoopy paused for an instant, and trembled a little, and a few blossoms fell like trickling tear-drops, and fluttered softly to the ground.

"They brought him home and buried him out there in the semingary," the tree added, "and that was the end of it. His father and mother didn't live very long after that, and then there wasn't anybody to take care of his grave any more. When that happened, I made up my mind that I'd do what I could; but around here all the apple-blossoms are withered and gone by the time Decoration Day comes, and n.o.body would take plain leaves like mine to put on a soldier's grave, so I began to put off blossoming until a little later than the other trees, and that's how I came to be called the stupid little apple-tree. n.o.body knew why I did it, but I did, and so I didn't mind being called stupid. I was doing it all for him, and every year since then I've been late, but on Decoration Day I've always had blossoms ready. The trouble has been, though, that n.o.body has ever come for 'em, and I've had all my work and trouble so far for nothing. It's been a great disappointment."

"I see," said Jimmieboy, softly. "What you want me to do is to take some of your blossoms over there to-morrow and put 'em--put 'em where you want 'em put."

"That's it, that's it!" cried the stupid little apple-tree, eagerly.

"Oh, if you only will, Jimmieboy!"

"Indeed I will," said Jimmieboy. "I'll come here in the morning and gather up the blossoms, and take every one you have ready over in a basket, and I'll get papa to find out where your master's grave is, and he'll have every one of them."

"Thank you, thank you," returned Stoopy; "and you'll find that all I've said about your apple will come true, and after this I'll be _your_ tree forever and forever."

Jimmieboy was about to reply, when an inconsiderate tumble-bug tripped over his hand, which lay flat on the gra.s.s, and in an instant all of the boy's thoughts on the subject fled from his mind, and he found himself sitting up on the gra.s.s, gazing sleepily about him. He knew that he had probably been dreaming, although he is by no means certain that that was the case, for, as if to remind him of his promise, as he started to rise, a handful of blossoms loosened by the freshening evening breezes came fluttering down into his lap, and the little lad resolved that, dream or no dream, he would look up the whereabouts of the young soldier-boy's grave, and would decorate it with apple-blossoms, and these from the stupid little apple-tree only.

And that is why one long-forgotten soldier's grave in the cemetery across the hills back of Jimmieboy's house was white and sweetly fragrant with apple-blossoms when the sun had gone down upon Decoration Day.

As for the stupid little apple-tree, it is still at work upon the marvelously red-cheeked apple which Jimmieboy is to claim as his reward.