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Papa
Joe ~ Telling
Tales ~
About the Story
The Ghost and the Apple Sauce - a new New England
Folktale by Papa Joe (c) 1996
Once there was a miser. He wasn't an ordinary miser. He didn't
hoard gold or silver. He hoarded apple sauce. He lived in a
village, far from the other villages and he owned all of the
apple trees.
Every year at harvest time, the miser would pick his apples. He
would mash them into apple sauce. He would fill up his bottles...
Hundreds of bottles,
Thousands of bottles,
Hundreds of thousands of bottles!
Then he would put most of the bottles down into his apple sauce
cellar.
If someone was to say, "Excuse me sir, may I have a little
taste of your apple sauce?", the miser would say, "NO!
NO! NO, NO, NO! I won't share my apple sauce with anyone! If you
want apple sauce, go make your own!"
Of course they couldn't make their own apple sauce. The miser
owned all the apple trees. He wouldn't even share his apple seeds
with the people of the village, not for all the money in the
world. Do you know why?
Because he was a miser and misers never share.
Yet the miser loved his apple sauce. He ate it all the time. Do
you know what he ate for breakfast every morning? He ate apple
sauce on his toast, apple sauce on his pancakes, or apple sauce
on his waffles. His favorite breakfast treat was apple sauce in
his oatmeal.
The miser had apple sauce every day for lunch. He would have
apple sauce in his beans or apple sauce in his soup. He even ate
apple sauce sandwiches.
I bet you'll never guess what the miser had every night after
dinner for his dessert. That's right, apple sauce. The miser
loved his apple sauce. He ate it all the time.
One day an old beggar made the long trip between the villages. He
had been walking for three days. He hadn't seen a soul. He hadn't
had a bite to eat in all that time.
When he came out of the woods, he looked down at the village and
said, "Oh, houses! Where there's houses, there's people.
Where there's people, there's food. If I could just get a crust
of bread and a sip of milk, I'd be so happy."
He practically crawled to the first house in the village. He
pulled himself up the stairs. He lifted the knocker. Bang! Bang!
Bang! Then he leaned against the door post and waited.
Yet the house that the beggar knocked on was the house of the
miser. The miser had just sat down to a delicious hot dog and
apple sauce lunch.
The knocking surprised the miser. No one had knocked at his house
in years. Would you? He went to the door, swung it open, and in
his gruff voice said, "What do you want?"
The beggar said, "Please sir, could you spare a
little..." That's all the beggar could say, before the miser
interrupted.
"NO! NO! NO, NO, NO! I won't share my apple sauce with
anyone. Go elsewhere for your food, you miserable beggar."
Then the miser slammed the door.
The beggar was leaning forward and the door came crashing into
his head. It knocked him off the stairs. He landed in a heap on
the ground. He didn't move.
A strange thing began to happen then. A mist began to form over
the body of the beggar. A mist that grew taller and taller,
thicker and thicker. It had large gaping holes where eyes should
have been. It had a large gaping hole where a mouth should have
been. It moved across the yard, up the stairs. It lifted the
knocker.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The miser had just sat back down. He stood up. "Oh! That
beggar's back again! I'll teach him to disturb my meals! I'll
give him what-for!" He went stomping to the door. He swung
it open. "You mis... Oh... a-a-a W-w-what do you want?"
The ghost said nothing. It just moved forward.
The miser moved back.
The ghost moved forward.
The miser moved back.
The ghost moved forward.
The miser moved back and back and back... until he bumped into
his kitchen cabinets. "W-w-what do you want?"
The Ghost said nothing. It pointed to the cabinet where the miser
kept his handy supply of apple sauce.
The miser whined, "Oh no, not my apple sauce, anything but
my apple sauce."
The ghost moved forward.
The miser clawed at the cabinet door. "All right, I'll get
you some."
The miser took out his smallest bowl. He put one tiny spoonful of
apple sauce into it. He tried to give it to the ghost, but the
ghost roared, "MORE!"
"All right!" He took out a medium size bowl and filled
it with apple sauce. He tried to give it to the ghost. Still the
ghost roared, "MORE!"
"All right, you can't blame a guy for trying." The
miser took out a large bowl and filled it with apple sauce. Again
he tried to give it to the ghost. All the ghost would say was
'MORE!'
"All right!" The miser took out his largest mixing
bowl. He filled it with bottles and bottles of apple sauce. He
slid it across the table to the ghost.
The ghost stood over the apple sauce. A noise like the wind
filled the room. 'Whoooosh!' The apple sauce was gone. The ghost
called for 'MORE!'
The miser cried, "That was seven jars of apple sauce! That's
more than I eat in a day."
Still the ghost would only roar for 'MORE!'
"All right!" The miser filled the bowl again and again.
He would slide it across the table. The ghost would stand over
the bowl. The noise like the wind would fill the
room...'Whoooosh'. Then the apple sauce would be gone and the
ghost would call for 'MORE'.
Until the cabinet was empty.
The miser sobbed, "Look! It's all gone now. Will you go away
too?"
The ghost did not go away. It pointed to the trap door in the
floor, that led down to the apple sauce cellar.
"Oh dear, I was hoping you didn't know about that."
The miser spent the rest of the day going down into the cellar
and bringing up bottles of apple sauce...
Hundreds of bottles,
Thousands of bottles,
Hundreds of thousands of bottles!
He spent the rest of the day opening them up, pouring them into
the bowl, and sliding it across the table. Each time he did, the
noise like the wind would fill the room with a 'Whoooosh!' The
apple sauce would be gone and the ghost would call for 'MORE'.
Until there was only one jar left.
"Please mister ghost, would you leave me this one last
jar?"
All the ghost would say was 'MORE!'
"All right!" The miser opened the last jar. He poured
it into the bowl. One last time he slid it across the table. One
last time the noise like the wind filled the room. 'Whoooosh!
Then the ghost and the apple sauce were gone.
The miser fell to the floor crying, "I lost all my apple
sauce."
He might have cried for days. No one ever knew, for no one ever
checked.
Outside, at the body of the beggar, there was the mist. It was
getting thinner and thinner, lighter and lighter until it fell to
the ground, like the dew on the morning grass, covering the
beggar with a fine, fine spray.
His eyes fluttered. They opened. "What, what happened? I
must have fainted from hunger. Wait a minute. I'm not hungry. In
fact, I'm full. Wow! It's magic. It's a miracle!" He went
dancing off to the next village. He didn't need to eat for three
weeks.
Ah! But the miser?? One day he ran out of tears. He stood up.
Do you think it was his own fault he had no apple sauce? If he
had shared his apple sauce with the beggar, wouldn't he still
have apple sauce for himself?
If he had even shared an apple seed with someone in the village,
why then they would have an apple tree, apples, perhaps even
apple sauce to share with him. But he hadn't. He was a miser and
misers never share.
When harvest time came around again, the miser was out picking
his apples. He mashed them into apple sauce. He filled up his
bottles...
Hundreds of bottles,
Thousands of bottles,
Hundreds of thousands of bottles!
The miser gave away a lot of his apple sauce. He gave away all of
his apple seeds. He only ate apple sauce three times a week and
he was never a miser again.
Papa
Joe ~ Telling
Tales ~
About the Story
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