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 plums. Cornelli picked them up; they were really splendid, but they had given her no pleasure that year. She took them with her and put them on Martha’s table.

“Oh, what fine yellow plums! I am sure they taste as sweet as honey,” exclaimed Dino. “Are they from your garden? When the sun shines on them in the morning, all the branches seem to sparkle with reddish gold like a Christmas tree.”

“Yes, they are from the tree. Do you want to eat them?” asked Cornelli.

“With pleasure. But you must eat some, too,” said Dino.

“No, I don’t want to,” Cornelli replied. Just try whether they are good. If you do not like them, you can leave them or give them to the birds.”

“Oh, but there is nothing that tastes as sweet and splendid as these golden plums!” cried Dino, while he was slowly eating one after another.

“What a shame! I wish I had known how much you like them; you really ought to have told me,” Cornelli said. There are none left