The little Mexican boy shot the question right back.
“Why aren’t you?”
“The Brownies all came to the factory to see how cherries are canned,” Veve explained. “We’re waiting now for Bill Flint to return for us.”
“Did you visit the factory?” Eileen asked the boy politely.
She could not help thinking that he was dressed oddly, even to go wading in the river. The boy wore a straw hat. His shirt was torn and two buttons were off. A patch had pulled loose from his trousers, showing an area of bare leg.
“I have never been inside the cannery,” Juan replied. “I did not pick cherries today because I did not feel like it.”
“You played hookey, didn’t you?” Jane caught him up. “Shame! When cherry pickers are so badly needed too.”
“If the orchard owners want pickers they should pay us more,” said Juan with a shrug. “And they should treat us better.”
The Brownies could think of no answer to that remark. They knew, of course, that Carl Wingate had struck the Mexican boy with a stick. Whether or not Juan had first caused the orchard owner trouble, they had never learned.
Just then a man came down the trail toward the beach.