"Sandy, ma'am. And please, ma'am, you can measure the berries."
"Ivy, bring the quart measure, and the earthen bowl."
When the implements were brought, Miss Walden took things in her own hands, while Ivy, with the disdain of the old family black servant for the poor white, stood by like an avenging Fate. The child Cynthia was all a-tremble. She was young, lovely, and vital. Youth took up arms for youth, and watched the outcome with jealous and anxious eyes.
"One, two, three——" the rich, fragrant fruit fell into the bowl with luscious, soft thuds; the red juice oozed out like fresh blood.
"Five, six, seven—eight, and——"
"A lot left over, Aunt Ann, counting dents in the measure and all."
It was Cynthia who spoke, and her big, gray eyes were dancing in triumph.
"More'n eight quarts, Aunt Ann."
"Umph!" ejaculated Ivy.
"Give the boy two dozen eggs and three over," commanded Miss Walden. "Take them to Tod Greeley at the post office and tell him they are Walden eggs."