"I'm picking Wordens," said Adrian, referring to the variety of the fruit he was gathering.
"How many kinds have you?" asked Roger.
"Well, we've got Concords, Isabellas, Niagaras, Delawares, Wordens, and Catawbas."
"I thought all grapes were alike."
"They're as different as people," said Adrian. "Some folks won't eat anything but Concords. Others want Wordens, and I like them best myself, but dad, he won't eat any but the white Niagaras."
Adrian reached over, cut off a big bunch of purple beauties, and ate them, while Roger did likewise, and it seemed that he had never before tasted such sweet grapes. The ones he occasionally had in New York were not nearly as fresh and good as these, right off the vines.
"Well," announced Adrian finally, throwing down the cleaned-off stem, "I must get to work. I've only got to fill forty more baskets, and then I can have the rest of the day to myself."
In between the rows of vines he had scattered small unfilled grape baskets. These were to be packed with the ripe bunches and loaded on a wheelbarrow, to be taken to the barn, and then the next day they would be sent to Syracuse. Adrian began to work, and Roger insisted that at least he be allowed to scatter the empty receptacles where they would be handy for his cousin. He also took the filled ones out to the end of the rows as Adrian finished with each.
Snip-snap went the scissors Adrian used to cut off the finest bunches. Before laying them in the baskets he removed any spoiled or imperfect fruit, so that the clusters would present a uniformly fine appearance, and bring a better price than if sent to market carelessly. Adrian worked rapidly, now that he did not have to stop to distribute the empty baskets or carry the full ones to the end of the row, and in much shorter time than Roger expected the forty were filled. As he placed the last one on the wheelbarrow Adrian remarked:
"Well, that's done. Want to go to Cardiff now?" for that was the way every one spoke of going up to the centre of the village.