"You've come to the right place," said Mr. Linden,—"I don't believe they're ripe anywhere else. Who is 'Mintie'? and who stays with her while you're after blackberries?"
"Mintie's sissy. There aint nobody stayin' with her—she's stayin' along o' mother—when she's up."
"Where is she?—I mean where does she live—and you, and Mintie. Where is your house?"
"Round there—'Taint fur. What you got?"
Faith set down her cup and looked at Mr. Linden.
"What is the matter with your mother?"
"She's sick."
"Well if I give you a basket, and this lady puts some dinner in it for your mother and Mintie and you, do you think you can carry it home?"
"Is your sister sick too?" said Faith.
"She's got the fever nagur."