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Jim
said
,
"
You
didn
’
t
need
all
that
cloth
.
Why
did
you
tell
London
to
burn
it
?
"
"
Look
,
Jim
.
Don
’
t
you
see
?
Every
man
who
gave
part
of
his
clothes
felt
that
the
work
was
his
own
.
They
all
feel
responsible
for
that
baby
.
It
’
s
theirs
,
because
something
from
them
went
to
it
.
To
give
back
the
cloth
would
cut
them
out
.
There
’
s
no
better
way
to
make
men
part
of
a
movement
than
to
have
them
give
something
to
it
.
I
bet
they
all
feel
fine
right
now
.
"
"
Are
we
going
to
work
today
?
"
Jim
asked
.
"
No
,
we
’
ll
let
the
story
of
last
night
go
the
rounds
.
It
’
ll
be
a
hell
of
a
big
story
by
tomorrow
.
No
,
we
’
ll
go
to
work
later
.
We
need
sleep
now
.
But
Jesus
,
what
a
swell
set
-
up
it
is
for
us
so
far
.
"
The
willows
stirred
over
their
heads
,
and
a
few
leaves
fell
down
on
the
men
.
Jim
said
,
"
I
don
’
t
know
when
I
ever
was
so
tired
,
but
I
do
feel
fine
.
"
Mac
opened
his
eyes
for
a
moment
.
"
You
’
re
doing
all
right
,
kid
.
I
think
you
’
ll
make
a
good
worker
.
I
’
m
glad
you
came
down
with
me
.
You
helped
a
lot
last
night
.
Now
try
to
shut
your
God
-
damned
eyes
and
mouth
and
get
some
sleep
.
"
The
afternoon
sun
glanced
on
the
tops
of
the
apple
trees
and
then
broke
into
stripes
and
layers
of
slanting
light
beneath
the
heavy
branches
,
and
threw
blots
of
sunshine
on
the
ground
.
The
wide
aisles
between
the
trees
stretched
away
until
the
rows
seemed
to
meet
in
a
visual
infinity
.
The
great
orchard
crawled
with
activity
.
Long
ladders
leaned
among
the
branches
and
piles
of
new
yellow
boxes
stood
in
the
aisles
.
From
far
away
came
the
rumble
of
the
sorting
machines
and
the
tap
of
the
boxers
’
hammers
.
The
men
,
with
their
big
buckets
slung
to
baldrics
,
ran
up
the
ladders
and
twisted
the
big
green
pippins
free
and
filled
the
buckets
until
they
could
hold
no
more
,
and
then
they
ran
down
the
ladders
to
empty
the
buckets
into
the
boxes
.
Between
the
rows
came
the
trucks
to
load
the
picked
apples
and
take
them
to
the
sorting
and
packing
plant
.
A
checker
stood
beside
the
boxes
and
marked
with
a
pencil
in
his
little
book
as
the
bucket
men
came
up
.
The
orchard
was
alive
.
The
branches
of
the
trees
shook
under
the
ladders
.
The
overripes
dropped
with
dull
plops
to
the
ground
underneath
the
trees
.
Somewhere
,
hidden
in
a
tree
-
top
,
a
whistling
virtuoso
trilled
.
Jim
hurried
down
his
ladder
and
carried
his
bucket
to
the
box
pile
and
emptied
the
load
.
The
checker
,
a
blond
young
man
in
washed
white
corduroys
,
made
a
mark
in
his
book
and
nodded
his
head
.
"
Don
’
t
dump
’
em
in
so
hard
,
buddy
,
"
he
warned
.
"
You
’
ll
bruise
’
em
.
"
"
O
.
K
.
,
"
said
Jim
.
He
walked
back
to
his
ladder
,
drumming
on
the
bucket
with
his
knee
as
he
went
.
Up
the
ladder
he
climbed
,
and
he
hooked
the
wire
of
the
bale
-
hook
over
a
limb
.
And
then
in
the
tree
he
saw
another
man
,
who
had
stepped
off
the
ladder
and
stood
on
a
big
limb
.
He
reached
high
over
his
head
for
a
cluster
of
apples
.
He
felt
the
tree
shudder
under
Jim
’
s
weight
and
looked
down
.
"
Hello
,
kid
.
I
didn
’
t
know
this
was
your
tree
.
"
