Cricket looked doubtfully out into the sunlight. From the garden it was not very far across the field down to the farm-house, but the sun looked very hot.
“I’d rather stay here, I think, Marjorie,” she said, doubtfully, “my legs feel so wobbly.”
“What’s the matter with the kid?” asked Harold Gray, who was a big boy of fourteen, and very fond of sunny little Cricket.
“Nothing’s the matter, only my head aches so,” Cricket tried to smile, but it was a very watery attempt. She so seldom had a headache that it seemed a very serious thing to her.
“I want her to go down to the farm-house and lie down, but she doesn’t feel like walking there,” explained Marjorie.
“Is that all? That’s easily fixed. Here, Jack, make a lady’s chair with me, to carry this young lady in. Now, Marjorie, help my lady up.”
Cricket stood up and the boys lowered their hands.
“Now, then, put your arms around our shoulders,” said Harold, as they raised the little girl gently. “That’s right. Put your head down on mine, if it ‘wobbles’” for Cricket’s throbbing head refused to stay upright, and bobbed helplessly down on Harold’s. Marjorie ran ahead.
’Manda saw them coming, and stood at the door ready to greet them.
“I do declare, I’m proper glad to see you!” she exclaimed, hospitably, to Marjorie. “’Gustus John he was up to the stables a spell ago, and he seen you all there a-pickin’ berries, ’n’ he sez when he come in, ‘’Mandy,’ sez he, ‘I ruther guess the children will be along down bime-by.’ You see yer pa stopped here yesterday, an’ he said that he ’lowed you’d kinder enjoy comin’ out here to pick them berries, an’ here ye be. La! what’s the matter with Cricket? I ’lowed she wuz bein’ carried thet way fur fun.”