"It 's got no more notion o' givin' up than me nor Barney,--not a bit." Margret had her doubts,--and so would you, if you had heard how it creaked under the load,--how they piled in great straw panniers of apples: black apples with yellow hearts, scarlet veined,--golden pippin apples, that held the warmth and light longest,--russet apples with a hot blush on their rough brown skins,--plums shining coldly in their delicate purple bloom,--peaches with the crimson velvet of their cheeks aglow with the prisoned heat of a hundred summer days.
I wish with all my heart somebody would paint me Lois and her cart! Mr.Kitts, the artist in the city then, used to see it going past his room out by the coal-pits every day, and thought about it seriously.
But he had his grand battle-piece on hand then,--and after that he went the way of all geniuses, and died down into colourer for a photographer.

He met them, that day, out by the stone quarry, and touched his hat as he returned Lois's "Good-morning," and took a couple of great pawpaws from her.

She was a woman, you see, and he had some of the school-master's old-fashioned notions about women.

He was a sickly-looking soul.

One day Lois had heard him say that there were pawpaws on his mother's place in Ohio; so after that she always brought him some every day.