"Come with me, do, Hanny," pleaded Jim. "You can walk along the stone fence and pick the high ones and we'll fill the kittle in no time."
Jim thought if he had made a spelling-book, he would have spelled the word that way. Jim would have been a master hand at phonetics.
The little girl crossed two of her fingers. That was a sign of truce in the game.
"No play till we come back," said Jim.
The little girl nodded and ran for her mitts of strong muslin with the thumb and finger ends out. The briars were so apt to tear your hands.
They ran a race down to the blackberry patch. Then they sat on the fence and ate berries. It was really a broad, handsome wall. There were so many stones on the ground that they built the walls as they "cleared up." The blackberry lot was a wild tangle. There were some hickory-nut trees in it and a splendid branching black walnut. Sometimes they found a cluster of hazel-nuts.
The great blackberry canes grew six or seven feet high. They generally cut one path through in the early summer. The long branches made arches overhead.
The little girl pinned a big dock-leaf with a thorn and made a cup. When it was full she emptied it into Jim's pail. They were such great, luscious berries that they soon had it filled. Then they sat down and rested. Everybody knows that it is harder work to pick berries than to play "tag."
Jim had a piece to speak on Friday afternoon at school. They had these exercises once a month, but this was to be a rather grand affair, as then school closed for a fortnight. That was all the vacation they had.
Jim was rather proud of his elocutionary gift. He stood up on a big flat stone and declaimed so that the little girl might see if he knew every word. It was extremely patriotic, beginning: