The Mexican boy shrugged his thin shoulders. “Wingate has an evil temper. He treats all of his pickers mean—but he hates me worse than the others. Often he beats me.”
“I know! I saw him strike you with a stick only yesterday. Why do you work for him?”
“The pickers have a contract,” Juan explained. But he added darkly, “We may break it. Si! If we leave before the fruit is harvested, then he will be sorry!”
“I should think so,” agreed Veve soberly. “Juan, wait here! I am going to get Miss Gordon’s first aid kit and wrap up your hand.”
She ran to the car for the materials she needed—cotton, gauze, iodine and tape. Returning to the spring, she dressed the cut as Miss Gordon had shown the Brownies how to do, and taped on the bandage.
The finished job did not look too neat, but Juan said it was fine and made his hand feel better. He seemed very grateful.
“How do you like stripping cherries?” he inquired. “Does the orchard owner beat you if you damage the fruit?”
“Oh, no! Mr. Hooper is very nice. All the Brownies like him.”
Juan had glanced at Veve’s nearly empty pail. “How many pounds a day can you pick?” he asked.