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 just to be pretty apple blossoms. That is one reason we love them so much."

Marjorie took some of the petals in her hands and touched them softly with her fingertips. "Once," she said, "we had an apple-tree that used to have double blossoms on it—on just one branch. They were quite big and very double,—all fluffy ruffles. They were pretty, but somehow we didn't love them as we did the others; we used to pick them just for curiosities; but some way they didn't seem to have the character that the sweet, open-hearted, single ones did."

"Did they bring forth apples?" asked the Dream.

Marjorie shook her head, soberly. "No, they were nothing but petals."

"And do they still come double?"

Again Marjorie shook her head. "No, the branch withered. Father said that he didn't care, because it took the strength of the tree without producing anything in return. I think I understand better now than I did then."

The Dream nodded. "You understand that those who are not workers in some way, who