"They are Indians," said Conrad, in awe.
Now a rope ladder was flung over the side of the ship and the pilot came aboard. He shook hands with the captain and the mate, and then lifted from the hands of an Indian who had followed him a roughly woven basket.
"I always bring something for the birds," said he in a loud voice as he uncovered it.
For a moment both children and adults could only stare at him dumbly. He was real, he came from America, and America had begun to seem like the figment of a dream: his was a new face, and they had seen no new faces for months.
But when the children looked into his basket, they ran forward. Here were cherries for mouths which had forgotten the taste of fruit; here were strawberries for lips which had never touched strawberries. An old woman began to weep.
"Cherries like those in the gardens of Württemberg, God be thanked!"
John Conrad looked at the pilot a little uneasily.
"We cannot pay," said he.