mostly, this summer. He comes from Mistwell but he's stayin' with his daughter up this way for a while. The Indians do the pickin'. We get Joel in to plant the new beds and hoe the old ones. Pa does the prunin' and I milk the two cows and cultivate when I feel able. I've always been kind of sickly." He straightened himself with a sudden look of pride, and added: "We don't care whether we work or not here. Pa's got lots of money in the bank, and everything's to be mine when he dies. I've seen the will. Don't get it into your head we're poor farmers. I bet you we could buy your old Duke of York twice over, if we wanted. Pa's too busy with his Bible an' everything to care about farm work much. But I'll give you one piece of advice. Don't you try to get seein' Joel and Mary, because you'll lose your place if you do. Pa won't stand for any mixin' between the goats and the ewes. Come on, now, and get at your pickin'. You got to fill your boxes good and full, and don't you go puttin' leaves and stems in the bottom to make them look full, neither."
Delight could scarcely believe her ears. This sickly boy to dare to suggest that she'd do such a thing! In a sudden rage she caught him in her arms and dragged him towards an opening in the floor through which hay was put into the stable below.
"Here, what are you doin'?" he spluttered, clutching her.
"I'm going to throw you down this hole."
"If you do I'll take you with me. Let go! I didn't mean nothin'. I just wanted to see you mad. Let go! Delight! Say, if I had a name like that I'd go an' drown myself. I would truly."
He was laughing now. She laughed, too, and released him.
