“Then we should see him, I suppose,” said Cora, as Nellie walked past with the dogs close beside her, each animal wagging his appreciation for the girl that led them on.
“Aunt Delia scares easy,” whispered Nellie, almost in Cora’s ear. “Just chuck a big bluff and she wilts.”
Cora smiled. She was happily versed in the ways and manners of those who “had not had a chance.”
“I am so afraid she will—hurt Rose,” sighed Belle. “Oh dear me! What a place!”
“But I think it rather fortunate we were here,” replied Cora. “These youngsters can scarcely take their own part—prudently.”
Andy hung back near the shed. He was still trying to choke down the tears. How could he ever pay three dollars and seventy-five cents for that crate of crushed berries? And it had not been his fault.
The strikers stood around Cora, each little fellow displaying his preference for “a good honest strike” to that of hard work, in the sun, on a berry patch.
“Narrow speaks fer us,” announced a sturdy little German lad. “Eh, Narrow?”
“We all goes back, if Andy gets his sticks,” spoke Narrow, who was evidently the strike leader.
“Well, come along,” ordered Cora, feeling very much like a strike breaker, “and we will see what Mrs. Ramsy says.”