It seemed odd to Harry to enter Mead’s store, where he had been employed, merely as a customer.
Mr. Mead nodded pleasantly.
“It seems natural to see you here, Harry,” he said. “Have you been berrying?”
“Yes, and I would like to sell my berries.”
“Very well. You know what I pay—eight cents a quart.”
“I have four quarts.”
“Measure them out yourself, Harry. I will make an exception in your case, if you wish it, and give you the money for them.”
Harry accepted this offer, as he did not know of what groceries his mother stood in need.
As he walked out of the store, he felt more confidence than he had done in the morning. He had not got a place, to be sure, but he had earned thirty-two cents. This was not quite half what he had been accustomed to earn at the store, but it was something.
A little way from the store, Harry passed an old man, dressed neatly, but in a well-worn suit, walking with some difficulty, with the help of a stout cane. He looked to be seventy years old, at least, and his appearance indicated that he was poor.