“Hello!” cried John, looking up from his grass-cutting. “You are an early bird.”
“I’m not as early as the robins.”
“No, you’d have to get up betimes to get ahead of them, little robbers that they are.”
“Aren’t there enough cherries for them to have some?” Cassy asked anxiously.
John smiled.
“That depends upon how many you want for yourself. Do you like cherries?”
Cassy thought for a minute.
“I don’t believe I ever tasted any. Mother didn’t think they were good for us, and she never let us eat them.”
“Well, I declare,” said John. “But I don’t blame her. I doubt if any you ever saw were fit to eat. There is a muckle of difference between cherries picked right off the tree and those you see on the fruit stand at your corner. As soon as I get through this lawn I’ll get you some. By to-morrow they ought to be picked, anyhow.”
Cassy looked up at the red and white waxy fruit. She thought it looked very pretty among the green leaves.