From the Relief Society Magazine, September 1950 –

An Apple for the Teacher

By Lydia Bennett Egbert

Mrs. Bently had just finished her breakfast dishes. She dried her hands and drew aside the crisp ruffled curtain from the window to watch the school children surging by, and yearned a little when she recalled the years when her own had been among the happy throng on that always excitable first day of school.

Gradually, the sound of clattering feet and merry laughter faded away, and Mrs. Bently might have turned from the window had her eye not caught sight of her thriving young apple tree standing bright and green against the white picket fence. Only in its fourth year, it was already beginning to bear, and the dozen apples that she had watched with anticipation all through the summer months now hung ripe and red.

“I’d better pick them soon,” she mused, smiling to herself, while her eyes rested upon one big, shining beauty that hung low over the fence. “They may find their way to the teacher’s desk.”

A small boy rounded the corner at that moment, and paused beneath the branch holding the big, red apple, upon which her eyes rested. She glanced at the clock. “Hmm, five minutes to nine. Wonder why the child’s late? Strange his mother wouldn’t see to it that he was early on the first day.”

For a long moment the boy stood gazing at the apple, then ran swiftly on his way.

“I’ll pick the apples today,” she decided, turning from the window. “It isn’t fair to tempt children anyway.”

But there was a cake to bake for the cooked-food sale, cookies for the children’s party, and peaches to can for Mrs. Adams, not to mention a dozen other odd jobs. There was no time left in which to pick the apples that day.

Perhaps it was curiosity that took Mrs. Bently to her window at the same time the next morning, again to watch the gay panorama and to linger until it had dwindled to the last few stragglers.

Could be that he came early this morning and I failed to recognize him among the other children, she thought, and was about to return to her household duties when the little late-comer made his appearance. She moved closer to rest her elbows on the sill of the window and watched with interest.

it was quite evident that, at first sight, the lone apple on the overhanging branch had made its impression, for now the boy had no trouble in spotting it immediately, and with hands in his pockets he stood with eyes fixed upon the bright object above him.

As she stood looking intently upon the scene before her, her mind wandered back. Ah, her own little Polly and Phil, how they had loved to tote apples to the teacher! It hadn’t been easy, either. They had had no apple tree growing in their back yard then, and fresh fruits had been a rare treat for them in winter. The “depression” had been at its peak, and Tom had worked only part time. Feeding a family and making ends meet was a problem, indeed. But, even so, they had been happy. She had Tom then. They found joy in scheming and planning together, she and Tom. And their two beloved children had given them many a moment of laughter and thrills.

She blinked her eyes to release an unwelcome tear and the smile that flickered across her face chased it on down to rest on the bosom of her fresh gingham dress. she was reminded of the time when Polly came home with a beautiful rosy apple, a reward for helping the teacher straighten up after school, and proudly placed it on the shelf of the cupboard for Daddy’s lunch. and small brother Phil, on his way out the next morning, innocently had collected it, and for the second time it found its way to the teacher’s desk. She and Tom had laughed and joked about it, but Polly never knew.

With a deep sigh of tenderness, Mrs. Bently laid aside her golden thoughts again to concentrate upon the little stranger within her gaze. “He’s looking so wistfully! Bless his dear heart! I’ll call to him that it’s all right to take the apple.” Unconsciously, she spoke aloud, Then, as a small hand reached upward, she began censuring herself for having waited so long to allow the first seed of temptation to be sown in the young heart. But a moment later she stood amazed, realizing that the child had only smoothed the apple carefully, before taking to his heels to make up for lost time.

For special reasons, Mrs. Bently made no attempt to pick her apples that day. the next morning her dishes were left standing in the sink later than usual, while in the back yard she busied herself among her flower beds, picking the bright blooms and arranging them in a silver-trimmed wicker basket.

“Good morning, Sonny,” she called casually, as the object of her curiosity came into view and made his usual stop beneath the apple tree. “A little late this morning, aren’t you?”

The boy jumped in surprise and turned to face her. “G – good morning, Ma’am,” he stammered. “Yes, I’m always a little late, but I make it before the bell rings.” But his mind was not to be distracted for long from his main interest. “Are these your apples, Ma’am?” he asked, turning abruptly and again casting his eyes upward.

“Why, yes. Would you like to take that big, red one to your teacher?”

The boy’s face lighted up and his voice quivered with excitement. “Oh, yes, Ma’am. I’d sure like to take an apple to the teacher. But – but,” he continued, his tones suddenly lowering and his mood growing serious, “it – it was Nancy I was really thinking about.”

Mrs. Bently detected the note of seriousness in his voice and spoke softly, “Is Nancy your baby sister?”

“Well, Nancy isn’t really a baby, Ma’am. she’s almost as old as me, but she’s been sick for a long time and has to stay in bed, and I sort of look out for her.”

“I’m very sorry your sister is sick,” she answered, sympathetically. “But I must say she’s a lucky little girl to have a brother who looks after her. What is your name, and where do you live?”

“My name’s Jimmy mason, and I live over by the mill in that old house without any paint. Mom says maybe when I get old enough to help out we can have a better house.”

“What about your Daddy?”

“Oh, my Dad’s dead. We had a better house before he died, but Mom couldn’t make enough to pay so much rent, so we had to move.”

“Your mother works, then?”

“yes, she goes to work at night, after me and Nancy’s asleep, and don’t get home till nearly eight-thirty in the morning. That’s why I always come late to school.”

“Do you have any relatives or friends near?”

“No, my aunt and uncle used to live here, but they moved away right after Dad died and we don’t have anybody now. Mom says she don’t have time to find friends and, anyway, she says our house is too shabby and nobody’s want to come there.”

“It isn’t so much the house that counts, Jimmy, it’s the people who live in it. But perhaps you’d better run along now,” she suggested kindly, “or you may not make it this time before the bell rings.”

“Oh, gee, yes, I almost forgot …” His words faded; he ran swiftly on and vanished from sight at the next corner.

Gathering the basket of flowers in her arms, Mrs. Bently made her way across the green stretch to the house and into the living room. she arranged the basket at the foot of the mantel and sank, for a few moments, into the easy chair beside her, before beginning her days’ routine. As she looked about the cheery, well-furnished room, a feeling of gratitude swept over her, and she wished that all those less fortunate might enjoy the same comforts.

Tom had left her a good home; with the insurance and other securities, she was amply provided for. True, Tom’s death, and then the children’s marrying and settling in distant towns, had left her lonely. But it was not for long. With so much to be done in the world, one could not lose herself to grief and loneliness for any length of time. “There’s enough happiness in the world for everybody, and life is kind to those who search for it,” she repeated to herself.

“Jimmy!” called Mrs. Bently across the fence that afternoon as she motioned the boy toward her. “Have you a few moments to spare, Jimmy?”

“Yes, Ma’am, I think I have. The teacher let us out early this afternoon.” He came near and paused outside the fence.

Mrs. Bently unlocked the gate and pushed it ajar. “Come inside. Are you a good climber, Jimmy? I’d like to get you to help me pick my apples.”

The boy’s face beamed as he slid through the gate. “Oh, gee! I’d like to help you pick your apples, Ma’am. I’m used to climbin’ trees. I climb the big ones over by our house and Nancy watches me through the window.” He straightened his shoulders proudly and shoved both hands in his pockets.

“Well, I’m glad you’re used to climbing, Jimmy. I wouldn’t want you to fall and hurt yourself picking my apples.” she led the way over to the tree. “Now, you just catch hold of that first limb and I’ll give you a little boost.”

Jimmy obeyed, and with his fingers curved over the limb and one foot extended backward, prepared to spring up.

“U–uh – there! Up you go!”

A little leap and Jimmy was on the limb, weaving his way through to the main fork of the tree. Bracing himself, he allowed his eyes to make a quick survey of the branches, adorned here and there with luscious red apples. Gee, wouldn’t Nancy like to have one of these big, red apples! If I had some money I might ask to buy one, he thought, and for a second his hopes soared high, only to take a sudden drop. he had no money, and he remembered, too, that his Mom had paid the rent the day before and had brought in a few groceries with the last of the money. He couldn’t even run home, now, and get any.

“Have you got sure footing, Jimmy? I wouldn’t want you to fall.”

The sound of Mrs. Bently’s voice broke the silence. Jimmy’s daydreaming ended suddenly. “I’m safe, ma’am. You won’t need to worry. I’m used to this.” He continued with emphasis, “Gee, Ma’am, I’ve never seen any apples as big and red as these!”

“Neither have I. They are nice. There aren’t many of them, but what there are turned out well. Will you be able to reach them all, Jimmy?”

“Yes, I think so, Ma’am.”

One by one, Jimmy picked the apples and dropped them carefully into the bucket that swung from a lower branch. “I think that’s all of them, Ma’am,” he called, and dropped the last apple into the bucket.

“Well, that’s fine. Come on down now. but be careful – don’t fall!”

Even though Jimmy had given a good demonstration of his climbing ability, Mrs. bently still persisted in cautioning him. But before she had the words out of her mouth he was on the ground.

She reached up and lifted the half-filled bucket form the limb and set it down beside her as she spoke. “You’ve been a great help to me, Jimmy. all summer I’ve wondered how I was going to get these apples down and save them from the frost. As a matter of fact, I don’t have any use for them myself, but I never like to see things go to waste.”

she stood for a moment looking down at the apples, then stooped and rolled several of them over in the bucket, carefully concealing the small slip of paper she had taken from her apron pocket.

“How would you like to take the apples home with you, Jimmy? Do you suppose you and your Mom and Nancy could find use for them?”

The thought of taking these big red apples to Nancy made Jimmy’s heart thump. But when he thought of what his Mom had told him and remembered again that he had no money, he knew that he must not let himself build any hopes. “yes, Ma’am, we could find use for them, all right, but I haven’t any money and Mom said I must never take anything without payin’ for it.”

“But, Jimmy!” she laughed, “you have paid for them!”

Jimmy was puzzled.

“You see,” she explained, “I had to get someone to pick the apples, and certainly I would not expect to have it done for nothing.”

Jimmy looked up at her hesitatingly. “But Mom might think I took the apples, Ma’am, and she wouldn’t like that. Mom says it’s awful to steal and Heavenly Father always sees even if nobody else does.”

Mrs. Bently smiled. “Your Mom is right, Jimmy. It is very wrong to steal. But you earned these apples, and you won’t need to worry about your Mom mistrusting you, either, because I tucked a note underneath them, explaining everything.”

Picking up the bucket, she took Jimmy’s hand and wrapped his scrawny fingers around the pail. “Thanks so much for helping me, Jimmy,” she said, as she opened the gate and let him through. “And tell your Mom I’ll be calling on her soon. You see, I’m looking for a new friend. Oh, and Jimmy!” she followed him through the gate and, reaching up, she picked the best big, red apple on the overhanging branch and tossed it into the bucket. “Take this one to the teacher.”