. .His own juicy flesh craves the juicy flesh of the apple. Sap
draws sap. His fruit-eating has little reference to the state of his
appetite. Whether he be full of meat or empty of meat he wants the
apple just the same. Before meal or after meal it never comes amiss.
The farm-boy munches apples all day long. He has nests of them in the
hay-mow, mellowing, to which he makes frequent visits. Sometimes old
Brindle, having access through the open door, smells them out and makes
short work of them.
In some countries the custom remains of placing a rosy apple in the
hand of the dead that they may find it when they enter paradise.
In northern mythology the giants eat apples to keep off old age.
The apple is indeed the fruit of youth. As we grow old we crave apples
less. It is an ominous sign. When you are ashamed to be seen eating
them on the street; when you can carry them in your pocket and your
hand not constantly find its way to them; when your neighbor has apples
and you have none, and you make no nocturnal visits to his orchard;
when your lunch-basket is without them, and you can pass a winter's
night by the fireside with no thought of the fruit at your elbow, then
be assured you are no longer a boy, either in heart or years.
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