"You're as strong as a horse," he commented, looking her up and down.
"Well, take care you don't anger me, then, Mister Perkin. If I had a name like Perkin, I'd hang myself to that old rafter."
They picked up the crates and set out for the thimbleberry canes. Perkin was giggling as he walked ahead of her along the hot, sandy path that ran beside a heavily laden orchard.
"What is the joke?" asked Delight, staring at his narrow back and sloping shoulders.
"You thinking you're stronger than me. I could put you down and hold you if I had a mind to, you'd soon find out."
"I advise you not to try any tricks with me."
He looked over his shoulder at her with his malicious smile.
"Wait and see," he said.
The thimbleberries stretched before them now, a myriad of graceful, bending canes, swarthy berries clustered among the thorns. Here and there a bright spear of goldenrod shot upward, or a milkweed pod had burst and scattered its drift of silver down upon the russet-coloured leaves. A partridge had brought her young out from the woods to feed upon the fallen berries that lay thickly on the hot ground; but she called them and they sailed away with a loud drumming as the two approached.
"That's the way when you haven't got your gun," mourned Perkin.
"Ah, the dear little things," said Delight.
She was glad when he had gone and she was left alone among the canes. It was a pretty spot, she thought, and though the brilliant sky, the vivid colours, and sharp lights
