One night she came for currants when they were almost gone. Mother had been sick, and was very late about making jelly. She told Eliza Jane she couldn't let her come any more after that night; the rest of the fruit must be saved for our own use. Lize Jane said nothing, but she rolled her black eyes round towards me, and I felt a little ashamed, for I knew she thought mother was stingy, and that was why she rolled her eyes.
I went into the kitchen, and said to Ruth,—
"Don't you want me to pick you a bowl of currants?"
Of course she did. She didn't know Lize Jane was there, or she wouldn't have been so pleased and so ready to get me my sun-bonnet. She had to reach it down from a hook in the ceiling. That was the place where Ned hung it when he wanted to "pester" me; he did it with an old rake handle.
When I was going anywhere to meet Lize Jane, I always felt as if I was stealing raisins. I never exactly stole raisins; but when my mother said I might go to the box and get two or three, I had sometimes taken a whole handful. I knew by the pricking of my conscience that that was wrong, and in the same way I knew that this was wrong too. Mother was in the green chamber, covering an ottoman with green carpeting, so she wouldn't see me from that side of the house.
I ran into the garden, and, going up close to Lize Jane, began to pick with all my might. "My bowl fills up faster 'n your pail," said I. "Cause its littler," said she; "and besides, I'm picking 'em off the stems."
"What do you do that for, Lize Jane? It takes so long."
"I know it; it takes foreverlastin'; but mother told me to, so'st I could get more into my pail."
I opened my eyes.
"She told me to get my pail chuck full. She didn't use to care, but now the currants are most gone, and she wants all she can get."