Cherry trees were everywhere, fairly dripping red treasure. Under many of the boughs, fruit had fallen to the ground.
A few ladders stood against the low, well-pruned trees. Back in the orchard only a few pickers could be seen.
In vain the girls looked about for a dwelling. Where a house once had stood there now was only a gaping, burned-out hole.
“Why, the place is all gone except its foundation!” Veve exclaimed. “The house must have burned a long while ago, and never was rebuilt.”
The only building to be seen was a long, low shed in which cherries were sorted and packed for market.
Stepping to the open doorway, the girls peered inside.
A bent old man, his back toward them, busily packed cherries into a big box. He whirled around upon hearing footsteps. And a shaggy white dog that had been dozing in a corner, sprang up with a warning snarl.
Startled, Veve and Connie retreated.
“Down, Cap!” the old man ordered the animal. To the girls he said: “Don’t be afraid. He won’t bite you or anyone else. I keep him on the place to frighten off intruders. His bark, though, is all bluff.”