"Red ripe cherries! Let us make haste then," cried Owen. He ran on, as fast as he could; but as soon as the children saw him running, they also began to run back to the turn-stile; and they reached it before he did; and they held it fast as before, saying, "Promise you will not kick up the dust, or we will not let you through."
"The cherries are very ripe," said Marianne.
"Well, well, I will not kick up the dust—Let me through," said Owen.
They did so, and he kept his word; for though he was ill-humoured, he was a boy of truth; and he always kept his promises—He found the cherries looked red and ripe, as Marianne had described them.
The old woman took up a long stick, which lay on the board before her. Bunches of cherries were tied with white thread to this stick; and as she shook it in the air, over the heads of the children, they all looked up with longing eyes.
"A halfpenny a bunch!—Who will buy? Who will buy? Who will buy?—Nice ripe cherries!" cried the old woman.
The children held out their halfpence; and "Give me a bunch," and "give me a bunch!" was heard on all sides.
"Here are eleven of you," said the old woman, "and there are just eleven bunches on this stick." She put the stick into Marianne's hand, as she spoke.
Marianne began to untie the bunches; and her companions pressed closer and closer to her, each eager to have the particular bunches which they thought the largest and the ripest.
Several fixed upon the uppermost, which looked indeed extremely ripe.