Part 2 (1/2)

”Well, when it is all settled I may--tell you,” replied his sister.

”But you boys imagine that girls cannot keep anything to themselves----”

”Wrong there, sis,” he answered, picking up his cap. ”We all know perfectly well that you all can keep to yourselves exactly what we want to know,” and in leaving the room he tossed a sofa cus.h.i.+on at Cora's head, hitting her squarely, and knocking her hair awry. She retaliated, however, with a floor cus.h.i.+on over the banister, which Jack failed to dodge.

At the appointed time, three o'clock, on a lovely June afternoon, Cora and Bess met as arranged with their autos at the cross-roads, Belle dainty as ever in her flimsy veils and airy silk coat, Bess, with her hand on the wheel, her eyes on the road ahead, and her jolly self done up simply in pongee, while Cora, correct as ever, and equally distinctive in her true green auto hood, and cloak that matched, made up a very attractive trio of auto maids.

”It's only six miles out,” called Cora, ”and this road runs straight into Squaton. They have quite a big strawberry farm out there.”

”Yes,” called back Bess, turning on more gasolene and throwing in third speed, ”mother was just delighted when I told her we were going there for berries.”

Over the smooth, shaded road the cars sped, the _Whirlwind_, Cora's machine, exactly attuned to the hum of the _Flyaway_, the car occupied by the twins. Just as two clocks, placed side by side, will soon tick in harmony, so two good engines may match each other in the hum of speed.

”I can smell the berries,” exclaimed Belle, as they neared a group of tall elms.

”We are almost there,” remarked Cora, ”and I think I, too, smell something good.”

Under the trees by the roadside they espied some boys eating from a pail of berries.

”There,” said Bess, ”that was what you scented. Those youngsters have been picking, I suppose, and that is their own personal allowance.”

”Berries! Five cents a quart!” called out one of the urchins, who at the same time stepped out into the road close to the slackened autos.

”Not to-day,” replied Cora, as she pa.s.sed on, followed by the _Flyaway_.

”Wouldn't you think they would want to take those home,” said Bess. ”I should think they would be satisfied with their earnings at the patch.”

”Maybe they have not been picking--except for their own use,” responded Cora. ”But here we are. Get out now, and we will walk over to the shanty where they crate the fruit.”

”What an ocean of green!” exclaimed Belle, the aesthetic one, looking over the strawberry patch.

”An ocean of dust, I think,” said Bess, as from the afternoon sun and breeze the grind of the picker's feet in the dusty rows between the countless lines of green vines just reached her eyes.

”There are plenty of them,” remarked Cora, wending her way along the narrow path, toward the shanty.

”And so many people picking,” added Belle. ”Just look at those boys!

They are as brown as--their clothes. And see that poor old woman!”

”Yes, her back must ache,” replied Cora. ”What a shame for her to be out in this sun.”

”She looks as if she could never bend again if she should straighten up,” said Bess. ”See how she stares at us from under her own arms.”

This peculiar remark caused the other girls to smile, but Bess meant exactly what she said--that the old woman was looking up from an angle lower than her elbows.

Just then the autoists faced two of the pickers--two girls.

Both stopped their work and looked up almost insolently. Then they spoke under their breath to each other and ”t.i.ttered” audibly.

”They're rude,” said Belle to Bess, picking her skirts as she stepped by.

”Oh, that's just their way,” exclaimed Cora. ”I am going to speak to them.”