Spud and Cal moved the baskets outside. The shed was dark, but light enough to show that one end of it was almost filled with barrels of apples ready for heading-up. Even if they had not seen them the odor would have told the story.
“If you want some to eat,” said Miss Matilda, “there’s a bin in that corner over there.”
“No’m, thank you,” said Spud. “We don’t care for apples.”
Miss Matilda sniffed.
“Guess you’re the first West House boys I ever heard tell of that didn’t, then,” she said. “Likely, though, you don’t care for them unless you can steal them.”
“They—they don’t agree with me,” said Spud uneasily. “Take hold, Cal. We’ll be back for the other one presently, ma’am.” Spud was in a hurry to get away, and so was Cal, and in a moment the first basket was well on its way to West House.
“I cal’late she suspects us,” said Cal when they were out of hearing. “Did you see the way she looked at us?”
“Yes, but I don’t care a rap how much she suspects as long as she doesn’t know, and make trouble for us.”
When they returned for the second basket Miss Matilda had re-entered the house, much to their relief. But as they went out a voice spoke from the end of the front porch.
“It’s easier to carry them that way, isn’t it?” asked the girl. The words were spoken quite gravely but there was laughter behind them. Neither Spud nor Cal found any reply to offer, but once inside their own gate Spud turned to Cal with a frown.