"You cannot all have this bunch," said Marianne; "to which of you must I give it? You all wish for it."
"Give it to me, give it to me," was the first cry of each; but the second was, "Keep it yourself, Marianne; keep it yourself."
"Now, Owen, see what it is to be good-natured, and good-humoured, like Marianne," said Cymon, the eldest of the boys, who stood near him—"We all are ready to give up the ripest cherries to Marianne; but we should never think of doing so for you, because you are so cross and disagreeable."
"I am not cross now; I am not disagreeable now," replied Owen; "and I do not intend to be cross and disagreeable any more."
This was a good resolution; but Owen did not keep it many minutes.—In the bunch of cherries which Marianne gave to him for his share, there was one which, though red on one side, was entirely white and hard on the other.
"This cherry is not ripe; and here's another that has been half eaten away by the birds.—Oh, Marianne, you gave me this bad bunch on purpose—I will not have this bunch."
"Somebody must have it," said Cymon; "and I do not see that it is worse than the others; we shall all have some cherries that are not so good as the rest; but we shall not grumble and look so cross about it as you do."
"Give me your bad cherries, and I will give you two out of my fine bunch, instead of them," said the good-natured Marianne.
"No, no, no!" cried the children; "Marianne, keep your own cherries."
"Are not you ashamed, Owen?" said Cymon—"How can you be so greedy?"