Part 3 (1/2)
”Don't you like ripe cherries very much?”
”Yes; but they do not grow in these hedges.”
”No; but there is an old woman sitting by the road-side, with a board before her, which is covered with red ripe cherries.”
”Red ripe cherries! Let us make haste then,” cried Owen. He ran on, as fast as he could; but as soon as the children saw him running, they also began to run back to the turn-stile; and they reached it before he did; and they held it fast as before, saying, ”Promise you will not kick up the dust, or we will not let you through.”
”The cherries are very ripe,” said Marianne.
”Well, well, I will not kick up the dust--Let me through,” said Owen.
They did so, and he kept his word; for though he was ill-humoured, he was a boy of truth; and he always kept his promises--He found the cherries looked red and ripe, as Marianne had described them.
The old woman took up a long stick, which lay on the board before her.
Bunches of cherries were tied with white thread to this stick; and as she shook it in the air, over the heads of the children, they all looked up with longing eyes.
”A halfpenny a bunch!--Who will buy? Who will buy? Who will buy?--Nice ripe cherries!” cried the old woman.
The children held out their halfpence; and ”Give me a bunch,” and ”give me a bunch!” was heard on all sides.
”Here are eleven of you,” said the old woman, ”and there are just eleven bunches on this stick.” She put the stick into Marianne's hand, as she spoke.
Marianne began to untie the bunches; and her companions pressed closer and closer to her, each eager to have the particular bunches which they thought the largest and the ripest.
Several fixed upon the uppermost, which looked indeed extremely ripe.
”You cannot all have this bunch,” said Marianne; ”to which of you must I give it? You all wish for it.”
”Give it to me, give it to _me_,” was the first cry of each; but the second was, ”Keep it yourself, Marianne; keep it yourself.”
”Now, Owen, see what it is to be good-natured, and good-humoured, like Marianne,” said Cymon, the eldest of the boys, who stood near him--”We all are ready to give up the ripest cherries to Marianne; but we should never think of doing so for you, because you are so cross and disagreeable.”
”I am not cross _now_; I am not disagreeable _now_,” replied Owen; ”and I do not intend to be cross and disagreeable any more.”
This was a good resolution; but Owen did not keep it many minutes.--In the bunch of cherries which Marianne gave to him for his share, there was one which, though red on one side, was entirely white and hard on the other.
”This cherry is not ripe; and here's another that has been half eaten away by the birds.--Oh, Marianne, you gave me this bad bunch on purpose--I will not have this bunch.”
”Somebody must have it,” said Cymon; ”and I do not see that it is worse than the others; we shall all have some cherries that are not so good as the rest; but we shall not grumble and look so cross about it as you do.”
”Give me your bad cherries, and I will give you two out of my fine bunch, instead of them,” said the good-natured Marianne.
”No, no, no!” cried the children; ”Marianne, keep your own cherries.”
”Are not you ashamed, Owen?” said Cymon--”How can you be so greedy?”
”Greedy!--I am not greedy,” cried Owen, angrily; ”but I will not have the worst cherries; I will have another bunch.”
He tried to s.n.a.t.c.h another bunch from the stick.--Cymon held it above his head.--Owen leaped up, reached it, and when his companions closed round him, exclaiming against his violence, he grew still more angry; he threw the stick down upon the ground, and trampled upon every bunch of the cherries in his fury, scarcely knowing what he did, or what he said.