"I've got all the blue or huckleberries in the world right here," Elizabeth mimicked.
"I'll pick a couple o' minutes, and then I'll lie in the bushes and rest a while," Grandfather said, vanishing with a six-quart cranberry measure.
Later when the girls came into the clearing again with their laden pails they found him stretched at full length and apparently fast asleep, but beside him was his heaping measure of berries.
"Granddaddy Swift," Peggy cried, "when did you pick all those?"
"Those?" he said, yawning. "Oh, a couple of hours back."
"I bet you've been working your head off every minute. We've got three quarts apiece. Elizabeth beat me after all, and then turned around and helped me get mine."
"I nearly killed myself doing it. I never want to eat another huckleberry, but I am thirsty for water or something. Don't I hear a spring?"
"There might be one through the trees there. I don't know nothing about it." Grandfather pointed, however, in a definite direction.
Peggy parted the branches, and slipped into a thread of a path which led them directly to a pool of crystal clear water fed by a tiny stream that was bubbling and gushing out of the earth. Protruding from the spring were three bottles of ginger ale that had been so placed that the cool water splashed upon them as it fell. On a rock close by were spread two paper napkins with a pile of bread-and-butter sandwiches on one and a stack of sugar-molasses cookies on the other. Between the two, holding them down, was a box of chocolates from New York's most popular candy manufacturers.
"I don't know nothing about it," Grandfather said, when they dragged him to the feast, "I've been fast asleep back there for upwards of two hours."