--

"You needn't worry about the money any more, mother. I'll get it for
Ben."

"_You_, Em!"

"Yes; I'm going over to Bassett's raisin-camp to pick grapes."

"Oh, I don't think I'd do _that_, Emmy!"

"Why, what's wrong about it?"

"There's nothing wrong about it, of course; I didn't mean that. Only it
seems so--so kind of strange. None of the women folks in our family's
ever done anything of that kind."

"Then the women folks in our family will have to begin. I can get a
dollar a day. The Burnham girls went, and they're as good as we are. I'm
going, anyway,"--the girl's red lips shut themselves in a narrow line.

"Oh, they're all _good_ enough, Emmy," protested Mrs. Wickersham; "it's
nothing against them, only it's going out to work. You know the way men
folks feel--I don't know what your brother will say."

"You can tell him I've set my heart on it. They have great fun over
there. He wanted me to go camping to the beach with the same crowd of
young folks this summer. I'll not stay at night, mother; I'll walk home
every evening. It's no use saying anything, I'm going."

"Is Steve Elliott at the camp?" asked Benny, when his mother told him.

"She didn't say anything about him, Benny, but I suppose he is. Why?"

"I guess that explains it," said the invalid, smiling wistfully.

II.

Nearly every available grape-picker in the little valley was at
Bassett's vineyard. There was a faint murmur of surprise when Em walked
into the camp on Monday morning.

"I thought you weren't coming, Em," said Irene Burnham, curving her
smooth, sunburned neck away from the tall young fellow who stood beside
her.

"I changed my mind," said Em quietly.

"It's awful hot work," giggled Irene, "and I always burn so; I wish I
tanned. But I'm going to hold out the rest of this week, if I burn to a
cinder."

"'Rene's after a new parasol," announced her brother teasingly; "she's
bound to save her complexion if it takes the skin off."

The young people gave a little shout of delight, and straggled down the
aisles of the vineyard. The thick growth had fallen away from the
gnarled trunks of the vines, and the grapes hung in yellowing clusters
to the warm, sun-dried earth. The trays were scattered in uneven rows on
the plowed ground between the vines, their burden turning to sweetened
amber in the sunshine. The air was heavy with the rich, fruity ferment
of the grapes. Bees were beginning to drone among the trays. The
mountains w