A few minutes' walk brought them to the curve and around it—and there was a vegetable stand; almost a small market, with fruits and garden produce attractively displayed and a number of boldly painted signs announcing that fresh eggs and dressed poultry were for sale on specified days of the week.
"Is it a store?" asked Shirley, much interested.
"It's like a store," Rosemary told her. "I remember Hugh was telling Mother something about this plan the other night. He said that down on the shore road he saw lots and lots of stands, when he spent his summers at Seapoint. And he was wondering why some of the farmers inland didn't do this—sell to people who have automobiles."
"Do people come and buy?" asked Shirley, staring at the tomatoes as though she had never seen that homely vegetable before.
"Yes, they come out in their cars, from Bennington and further away, I suppose," said Rosemary. "And they buy all this stuff fresh and take it home with them. I wonder who takes care of the stand?"
A sharp, thin, freckled face rose slowly from behind the tiers of baskets and a reedy voice announced, "I do—want to buy anything?"
Rosemary jumped. She had not known there was anyone near. Now she saw the owner of the freckled face was a girl, a few years older than herself.
"Do you take care of the stand?" Rosemary asked, smiling her friendly smile.
The freckle-faced one nodded.
"That's my job summers," she confided. "Winters I'm studying. I'm going to be a school teacher. What are you going to be?"