picked up the little girl and held her out to kiss her aunt. "Don't you worry," she called, as the carriage started.
She came out on the back porch presently with a large basket of ox-hearts.
"Now let's see how smart you can be," she said. "Sit down on the step and I put the basket beside you. Pick them clean." Mary looked rather frightened at the size of the task, but she set to work. She stemmed and stemmed until her hands were sticky and her fingers ached. A thick yellow sunbeam came crawling to her feet; the flies buzzed, diving through the air as though it were heavy; the cat beside her slept and woke. It seemed to the child that she had always been in that spot and that there would never be anything but a hot morning and piles of shining cherries. She was looking toward the orchard where her swing hung empty when Calista hurried by the door. "Have you done them all?" she called. "Not? Well, then you finish them quick."
The cherries lasted until dinner-time, and when that was over Mary climbed on her father's bed and slept all afternoon. When she came out the first thing she saw was the egg-basket piled full.
"If you want to go along for eggs you ought to be here when I am ready," said Calista.
The little creature made no noise, but her father looked at her hard as he sat down to supper. "What's the matter?" he asked.
She did not answer, and Calista said, "Oh—!" with the peculiar German inflection of contemptuous patience. Conrad said no more.
After supper Mary wandered out, and her aunt had to call her several times. "Where were you?" she asked.
"Down there." The child pointed to the orchard. "A lady was there."
Calista went to the edge of the porch and shaded her eyes. "I don't see her," she said. "Who was she?"