"I reckon you don't want to spill them, after working so hard to get them," Tom said, as the automobile lurched forward.
"I certainly do not," Ruth admitted. "I scratched my hands all up getting the bucket full. Just fancy finding barberries still clinging to the bushes in such quantities this time of the year."
"What good are they?" queried Helen, selecting one gingerly and putting it into her mouth.
"Oh! Aunt Alvirah makes the loveliest pies of them—with huckleberries, you know. Half and half."
"Where'll you find huckleberries this time of year?" scoffed Tom. "On the bushes too?"
"In glass jars down cellar, sir," replied Ruth, smartly. "I did help pick those and put them up last summer, in spite of all the running around we did."
"Beg pardon, Miss Fielding," said Tom. "Go on. Tell us some more recipes. Makes my mouth water."
"O-o-oh! so will these barberries!" exclaimed Helen, making a wry face. "Just taste one, Tommy."
"Many, many thanks! Good-night!" ejaculated her brother, "I know better. But those barberries properly prepared with sugar make a mighty nice drink in summer. Our Babette makes barberry syrup, you know."
"Ugh! It doesn't taste like these," complained his sister. "Oh, folks! there are those foolish actors again."