“But suppose he or she does half my work?”
“That don’t count. Skilled labour, you know, takes the cake.”
“But if any one does half my work, they must have half my pay.”
“Nonsense,” said the Mayor, abruptly.
“I sha’n’t grind the face of any poor person,” said Berty, doggedly.
“All right—have it your own way, but if you won’t mind me, consult your grandmother before you pledge yourself.”
CHAPTER XV.
UP THE RIVER
Berty and her grandmother were having a quiet little picnic together. They had gone away up the river to Cloverdale, and, landing among the green meadows, had followed a path leading to a small hill crowned by a grove of elm-trees.