Benny lost no time in speeding home. He burst in upon his mother with the breathless question, “Mother, may I go down on the “Emma Jones” and be a picker?”
Mrs. Jordan turned from her machine with a look of amazement. “Why, Benny, what do you mean?”
“Why, there’s a man, a Mr. Bentley, who is hunting up people to pick strawberries and peas for him, and maybe I could go. Maybe it would be finding the way, you know, for father’s plan.”
His mother smiled sadly.
“Dear little lad, I’m afraid Mr. Bentley will not want little boys like you, and besides how can I let my boy go away from me without my knowing anything about where he is going or the people he is to be thrown with.”
“I would be good; indeed I would, mother. I’d work awfully hard, and I wouldn’t go with bad boys.”
“Well, my darling, I’m afraid it would not be best for me to say yes.”
“But if Mr. Bentley should want me,” pleaded Benny, “I would be right in the country, mother, and I wouldn’t get into mischief.”
His mother smiled at this absolute faith in the safety of the place. Then she was very thoughtful. “If I could see Mr. Bentley himself, and find out more about it,” she said finally.
“Can’t I go and try it for a week? Only a week?” begged Benny.