“And perhaps you haven't,” said the maid. “You ought to be ashamed not to let people who are willing to pay your outrageous prices have them. It's regular highway robbery.”
“Possibly that's the reason I decline to hold up one party twice,” said the Harvester as he entered the gate and went up the walk to the front door.
“You should be taught your place,” called the maid after him.
The Harvester again rang the bell. Another maid opened the door, and once more he asked to speak with the lady of the house. As the girl turned, a handsome old woman in cap and morning gown came down the stairs.
“What have you there?” she asked.
The Harvester lifted the leaves and exposed the musky, crimpled, big mushrooms.
“Oh!” she cried in delight. “Indeed, yes! We are very fond of them. I will take the basket, and divide with my sons. You are sure you have no poisonous ones among them?”
“Quite sure,” said the Harvester faintly.
“How much do you want for the basket?”
“They are a dollar a dozen; I haven't counted them.”