"It's just as well," answered Cherry, with unconscious sarcasm. "'Twas likely wrong anyway. Do you mean to say you would pick berries for Mr. Hartman, when you hate him so?"
"Why not—if he will have us? His money is just as good as any other man's, ain't it? Only he's mighty stingy."
"That's just it! I don't believe you heard him right. He'll never pay five cents a quart for picking berries, Peace. Now, if it was Judge Abbott or Mrs. Grinnell—Why, strawberries are cheap!"
"Not now, when they are 'most gone. And, besides, he told the butcher that one of the big hotels in Martindale pays him twenty cents a quart for all he will bring them. It's a special kind, you see, splendid big ones, that only rich folks can 'ford to eat."
Cherry swung her feet thoughtfully as she read the alluring advertisement once more, and pondered the question of such importance to both little girls, but she ventured no reply.
"Well?" said Peace, sharply, after some moments of impatient silence.
"It's awfully hot to pick berries in the sun all day," yawned Cherry, fingering her book longingly.
Peace snorted in disgust, and seizing the precious paper from her sister's lap, she swung nimbly to the ground and started off across the meadow on the other side of the fence.
"Wait, Peace! Where are you going?" cried Cherry, scrambling off her perch, thoroughly awake now.
"To pick me a pair of shoes in Mr. Hardman's strawberry patch," answered Peace, quickening her pace.