Big heavy tears plowed their way through the dirty little spots on the boy’s cheeks. To pay for the crate would take all his week’s earnings.
“You did it yourself!” declared a boy who boldly faced the woman, “and Andy’s not goin’ to stand fer it, or we all strike; don’t we, fellers?”
“Sure, we do!” came a chorus, not only from those who had been waiting, but from a second group that had come up in the meantime.
“Strike, eh?” cried the woman. “Well, you kin all clear out! Do you hear! Every dirty one of ye! Git off the place or—I’ll let the dogs loose!”
“Oh, goodness me!” exclaimed Bess, clutching Cora’s sleeve. “Do come away! There will be—bloodshed!”
“We must wait,” replied Cora calmly. “I guess she is not so anxious to have her berries rot on the vines, and most of the good pickers seem to be with Andy.”
Belle was nervously walking down the path toward the autos.
The boys stood defiantly, waiting for the woman to produce Andy’s tallies.
“Give him his sticks,” called one of them, “or we’ll smash every berry in the patch!”
“You will, eh!” yelled the woman. “I’ll show you!”