"They're dear, dreadful dear. Over to Windsor you can get as many as you can carry for a shillin' a quart."
Joe was silent.
"Say sixteen."
"I couldn't," replied Joe. "If Mr. Terry were here"—
"There's Father Terry." She raised her voice a little. "Father Terry, come and look at these cranberries. They're a poor lot, and you'll do well to get a shillin' a quart."
Joe ran his fingers through them. Plump and crimson, very nice he thought for so late in the season.
"I don't s'pose I'd get more'n two good quarts out of three. They'll spile on your hands. Come now, be reasonable."
Father Terry looked undecided. Joe watched him, thinking in his heart that he ought not fall a penny.
"Say a shillin'."