"Do you care for blackberries, Sam?"
"Yes! Have you got any?"
"There are some down the hill, there,—against the fence. Why don't you go and get them?"
"Thank you,—shall I bring some of them back to you?"
"No,—just eat 'em yourself, and have a good time."
This was by far the most sensible thing he had said, and I hurried down to the blackberry bushes. But when I got to them, and inspected the long, thorny branches, I found that my expectations were to be disappointed. If there had been any good berries they had been picked. All that remained were unripe.
I hurried back to the summer-house, and burst in upon its occupants. They seemed to be having some kind of a misunderstanding: Miss Carew had a book in her hands, which Mr. Dennett was trying to take from her.
"Hullo! Back already? What was the matter with the blackberries,—are they green?"
"No," I replied, "they are red,—but they're red when they're green, you know."
And I climbed back to my former place on the bench opposite them. Immediately, Mr. Dennett became concerned about my velocipede.