"Oh no, papa! we want to walk; and Andrew"—this was the name of Mr. Arnott's gardener—"says they will let us go into the garden and pick them ourselves—and you know, mamma, Eliza can go with us and carry our baskets," added Florence, anticipating her mother's objection to their going without some attendant to a place a mile off.
And so it was arranged, and in a few minutes they set out, Eliza carrying the baskets, and each taking a shilling to pay for her berries. It seems they had gone only about half-way, when they met a poor woman with a sick child in her arms, sitting to rest herself in the shade by the side of the road. The woman looked so pale and sad that the servant, Eliza, who was a kind-hearted girl, spoke to her, and asked what was the matter?
"Sick and weary," said the poor woman.
"But how did you come to be in the road here by yourself?—and where are you going?" asked Florence.
"Why you see, Miss, I have been to the city, where a great many people told me that I might make twice as much money without slaving myself to death, as I was doing, for the children; and so I took this baby and went; but the baby fell sick, and indeed I think the city air did not suit either of us, for I fell sick too, and could not work at all, and I longed so to get home and smell the country air, and see the other children and friends' faces, instead of strangers, strangers always, that, as soon as I could walk, I set out, and thank God, I have got only eight miles more to walk, for I live at M——."
"But why do you walk?" asked the children.
"Ah, young ladies, poor folks that have not any money to pay for rides, must walk. As long as my money held out I got a ride on a cart now and then for a sixpence, or a shilling, and that was a great help; but I have not even a sixpence left now to buy a bit of bread if I was ever so hungry."
In a moment Harriet's shilling was in the poor woman's hand; Mary's followed. She burst into tears, and thanked them again and again. Florence looked at her shilling, then at the woman, and said, "I have half a dollar at home, and that is four times as much as a shilling, you know, and if you will wait here till I have got the strawberries I am going for, you can go back with me and I will give you that."
"Thank you, my dear young lady," said the poor creature, "but I hope to get home this evening, and that I shall not do if I stop and go back on my way—yet," she added, "half a dollar is a great deal. I wish I were not so tired."
"Florence," cried Harriet and Mary, both at once, "I will go back for the money if you will tell me where it is, and the poor woman can rest here till I come back."