“Want to come up?” said John. Didn’t he? Could any one imagine that he didn’t? However, John warned him: “Better wait till we come down. There’ll be most too many in this tree, I’m afraid.”
Bearing his hat full of cherries he came down the ladder and Cassy followed. Then Jerry was given permission to go up. This was a treat he had not expected, to be allowed the freedom of a cherry tree full of ripe cherries. What bliss!
The boy gave a sigh of great content as he settled himself astride a huge bough.
“Don’t eat too many,” John warned, “and come down when I call you.” Jerry promised; he valued John’s good opinion, and moreover had respect for his authority, and he was not going to do anything to alter the present pleasant state of things.
Cassy had climbed down safely and stood below, her eyes fixed on Jerry.
“Isn’t it splendid?” she called up to him.
“I should say so,” came the answer, rather indistinctly by reason of a mouthful of cherries.
“Here, little one,” said John, “suppose you take these in to your mother,” and he poured the hatful of shining fruit into Cassy’s outstretched apron. She ran lightly across the freshly cut grass to the kitchen where her mother was getting breakfast.
“Just see! Just see!” cried the child, “I’ve been up the tree, and the robins were there too, and John went up and Jerry is there now. I picked cherries, real cherries, from the tree myself.” The delight in her face made her mother stop to kiss her.
“Breakfast is ready,” she told her. “Call Jerry and Mr. McClure.” And Jerry regretfully was obliged to come down. “You shall help me to pick them to-morrow,” John told him, and this prospect was enough to satisfy him.