Accordingly, they passed around to the rear of the house. Peering through the screen door of the kitchen, they beheld an attractive interior—neat and clean and well kept. At the far corner, beside the stove, they distinguished the stout figure of a woman bending over a pan. Marjorie knocked timidly.
“Come in!” called the woman, cheerily. Then, turning around, she opened her eyes wide in amazement at the sight of the two young girls.
“How do you do?” said Marjorie pleasantly, as she and Frieda entered the big room. “We belong to the girls who camped last night a little way up the stream, and we want to know whether you will sell us a dollar’s worth of peaches. They looked delicious.”
The woman smiled with pleasure. A workman loves to hear praise of his achievements, and the peach orchard was this lonely woman’s one happiness and pride. For the moment, she forgot the part she was to play in her sheer delight at the compliment.
“Yes, I growed them all myself. Been livin’ here nigh on to thirty year—” she was about to say, “by myself” but caught herself in time, and added, “me and my husband. And if I do say it myself, it’s a fine crop of peaches I’ve got. I never have no trouble sellin’ them.”
“And do you do all the work yourself?” questioned Frieda. “Doesn’t your husband help you?”
The woman shook her head. “No, he runs the car into Besley and other towns and sells ’em, but I do all the growin’. He never seemed to have no luck. But set down a minnit, and I’ll give you some doughnuts and fresh milk.”
“Thanks,” said Marjorie, gratefully. “But I almost think we oughtn’t to be so far behind the others——”
“But it will take a while to pick the peaches,” interrupted the other; “and you might as well be restin’ and a refreshin’ yourselves. Set down!”
The girls laughed good naturedly, and seated themselves upon a long wooden box which was evidently used for kindling. Just as they were handed their refreshments, an old man shuffled into the room.