Connie uttered a squeal of terror. She was not really frightened, but the brilliant light had startled her.
“Better hike to the shed,” her father warned.
Even as he spoke, Connie felt the first drop of rain on her hand.
Other large drops began to splatter through the leaves of the cherry trees.
Mr. Hooper came hurrying from the shed. “This is it,” he said. “All the Brownies take your buckets to the shed.”
Connie and the other girls raced for shelter. Their fathers stayed a few minutes and then they too ran to get in out of the rain.
The Mexican pickers, however, did not seem to mind. Nearly all of them stayed in the orchard, picking until their tree was stripped clean.
Juan was laughing as he tramped into the shed, his clothing soaked. His feet were muddy too, but his pail was brimming full of cherries.
“That’s the last of them,” he told Veve. “Mr. Hooper won’t lose thirty pounds because of the storm. The orchard is nearly bare.”