Table Of ContentThe Golden Apple Tree
Virna Sheard
Illustrated by Norman Price
The Golden Apple Tree
By
Virna Sheard
Illustrated by
Norman Price
“To all young hearts”
CONTENTS
THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE
THE PRINCESS PANDORA
THE JEWELED PRINCESS
A ROSE ENCHANTED
THE GARGOYLE AND THE GRIFFIN
THE QUEEN’S TEAR-BOTTLE
THE KING’S OPAL
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
“Then I implore you, give me the moonstones,” she requested softly.
“Verily–yes, sweetheart,” he answered, “we will go into the garden.”
“Return to the King. Tell him I catch my falling tears in the crystal
bottle he gave to me.”
The King stepped closer to the ebony pedestal
Took her hand, bending down he kissed it in courtly fashion
“Then I implore you, give me the moonstones,” she requested softly.
The Golden Apple Tree
THE GOLDEN APPLE TREE
THIS story happened a long time ago in the country where anything
may happen. The people who belong to that country stay there, and
nothing can induce them to journey beyond its borders.
Also, very few travelers find their way in, because the road that runs
that way is hidden in a rosy mist.
This mist-road winds around and around a ring of mountains that
are dreadfully hard to find on the map–and sometimes are not on the
map at all.
You need not read this first part unless you like. It is only a preface,
and usually people skip them. The story begins here.
. . . . . . . .
The King’s Highway that ran east and west through the City of
Midas was a wonderful highway. The buildings fronting upon it, the
houses, shops, palaces and churches, had all been colored a brilliant
golden hue, and the cupolas, spires, turrets and domes topping the
buildings were tipped and touched with gold-leaf.
The road was flagged with stones of deepest yellow, and the whole
street was so radiant and resplendent that the citizens often wore
smoked glasses when they walked abroad at noon-day.
Upon a great topaz fastened against the door of the City Hall and
Court House, was engraved the legend of King Midas of the golden
touch, he who had founded the city and made it his home. To the
legend was added a brief note telling that the city fathers had
thought it wise to color the buildings yellow, in memory of the
bewitchment that had years ago come upon the avaricious King, and
the miracle of his deliverance from it.
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The Golden Apple Tree
This was a warning to all and sundry to beware of covetousness and
greed and the evils in their wake.
Small heed did the good people pay to the words graven on the
topaz, and long and loudly they grumbled at the taxes put upon
them, for it cost much money to paint and polish and gold-leaf the
buildings on the wonderful road.
In their heart of hearts, probably, they took pride in the highway, for
no matter how much they grumbled they paid the taxes promptly.
Now the most beautiful thing on all the beautiful highway and the
most marvelous, was an apple tree.
It stood in the middle of a little square before the City Hall, and it
was by far the most prized possession of the dwellers in the City of
Midas–from the oldest inhabitant, tottering on his shrunken legs to
rest in its shadow, to the youngest child, tottering also, but on
dimpled feet to where he could stand and wonder at its shining
burden of apples.
For this apple tree was of gold, root and branch and leaf and fruit. It
was the one golden fact in a place of golden frauds.
As long as anyone could remember, the tree had been there, and as
long as anyone they had ever seen could remember. Musty
documents filed away in musty drawers, and old, old letters and
deeds-of-law with crumbling edges, referred to it casually.
Ancient wills and testaments bore ancient seals stamped with a
picture of this very tree.
Generations came and went, fashions came in and went out, but the
old, yet ever-young apple tree lifted its golden branches to the sky,
serene and unchanged.
It was taken for granted that on that far-off day when King Midas
was bewitched of the golden touch, and laid hands so energetically
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The Golden Apple Tree
on every object around him, including the very trees and flowers of
his garden, he had touched this apple tree also, and by strange
alchemy turned it to the precious metal.
Further, it was supposed that in the King’s hour of repentance, when
he sprinkled the magic water on all the golden garden to transform it
again into a place of green growing things, this tree had been
forgotten or overlooked, until the water was all gone.
An occasional stranger gazed with awe at the tree of mystery and
asked questions about it, but the citizens, who, for the most part
were simple and unlettered, and given to seeing the pixies and
warlocks and fairies that came and went in their own mountains,
regarded the tree with pride but little curiosity, and as people do
regard things they have always known.
A sentinel marched in front of it night and day, while to the very left
of it was the Town Pillory, and to the right the Town Gallows. There
was no chance visitor who had found his way along the rose-misty
road and followed it into the golden city, who did not quickly learn
just why the pillory and the gallows were on the right and left of the
wonderful tree. He was straightway informed that any person who
as much as touched a leaf with even the tip of a finger, was, without
ceremony, made fast in the pillory to languish there, whatever the
weather, for one full day; while that delinquent who, for wanton
mischief, folly, or thievishness, broke a golden apple from its branch,
was without much ado quickly hung upon the gallows.
Whether by reason of this law or because of sentiment, the tree was
seldom molested, and the sentinel had but a dull existence. Apart
from these simple restrictions the town-folk were free to come and
go beneath the golden thing, and there was no more favored
meeting-place than the grassy circle shadowed by the out-flung
glittering branches. It may be temptation was lessened, as the apples
and leaves hung high above the reach of any but the very longest
arm.
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The Golden Apple Tree
Now, it was upon a certain July afternoon that various things
happened in the City of Midas that afterwards were written down in
the town chronicles, and so seem worth telling about.
The afternoon was so hot that the dazzling street was deserted. A
white-haired priest crossing in front of the City Hall suddenly
stopped, and then as though exhausted, sat down on a bench
beneath the tree.
The sentinel on duty before it tramped slowly up and down and
found time heavy on his hands. His uniform was tight and hot and
of a flaming scarlet. His boots shone as though made of polished
metal, while his helmet and musket felt heavy as lead.
Little waves of heat quivered up from the ground, and at intervals a
locust sang its sudden song of the sun. The light glanced down
through the golden tree until each individual leaf and apple seemed
to shoot hot rays at him.
It was the sort of day when dogs go mad, and people are apt to do
things unaccountable and foreign to their natures; when strong men
in the fields dread a stroke from heaven, and little babies wilt like
flowers left without rain.
The old priest nodded in the hot shade, and the sentinel went back
and forth monotonously, all misery within, all grandeur without. He
was sick of his task, sick of the heat and silence, and aimlessly
wished for something to happen–for anything, indeed, to happen
that might serve to distract his mind until the hour of release.
And something did happen.
Far down the golden highroad he saw a man coming towards him,
swinging along at a swift dog-trot.
The sentinel stood stock-still, because there was so much that was
unusual about the running figure. Also, it was strange that anyone
should travel so fast in the great heat. The sentinel gazed, and
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