This time, though, it was slow in coming, and when it did come it
didn't look much like an opportunity. It was too easy. In shape
it was a very ragged man with a very dirty face and a very red
nose and a very greasy hat. He came by, a-munching on an apple, a
big apple, a crispy-sounding apple, a shiny ripe and luscious
apple. How cool it would feel in a little boy's hands if he were
to hold it tight and then take a big, sweet, juicy bite out of
it!

Should David accept the remainder of the man's apple? No, that
would not be right; little boys must not be greedy. Just the
teeniest, weeniest, wee bite would be quite sufficient for him.

But, heigh-ho and alack-aday! the dirty-faced man and the
red-nosed man and the man with the greasy hat passed slouchily
on, a-munching and a-crunching of his apple.

That was enough. David cast himself down from the fence-post of
deception and was off for the house, his arm before his eyes, and
his new shoes creaking dolorously. He must find refuge in
Mother's lap; she must help him to soothe away his hurt; he must
have solace for this wretched failure of great hopes.

But before reaching her, David suddenly found himself seized by
some mysterious force which sent him floating into space. Back
and forth he swam like, a pendulum, and when he alighted, it was
on a man's shoulder, and the man was Dr. Redfield.

"You're not hurt, are you?" he asked.