When they had got their carts loaded, they began to wheel them around to the trees, and stones, and bushes, saying,
“Who'll buy my sand?”
“Who'll buy my white sand?”
“Who'll buy my gray sand?”
“Who'll buy my black sand?”
But they did not seem to find any purchaser; and at last Rollo said, suddenly,
“O, I know who will buy our sand.”
“Who?” said James.
“Mother.”
“So she will,” said James. “We will wheel it up to the house.”