going to pick," interrupted Peace
somewhat sharply, for she was hot and tired, and Cherry's tone seemed to
imply criticism. "Help me tote these crates up to the house now and
we'll get our pay."

Mr. Hartman met them as they tugged the second crate, only half filled,
up to the berry shed, and the spirit of mischief suddenly took
possession of the usually stern, business-like farmer.

"So you have picked all you want to, have you? Well, I am surprised to
think you would give up so soon. Here, hand me that box! I want to see
what kind of pickers you are." He hoisted the two crates to the corner
of the fence surrounding one of his brooding pens, and pretended to
examine each box critically, while the girls waited in anxious silence
for his word of approval. "Hm!" he said at last, trying to frown, and
succeeding so well that both little faces paled with misgiving. "Just as
I expected! You don't know how to pick strawberries. You don't deserve a
cent of pay. How much were you to get? Five cents a box?"

"Yes, sir," whispered Peace, with lips so dry they could hardly form the
words.

"Well, I oughtn't to give you a penny, but I will be generous and live
up to my part of the bargain. Five cents a box, was it? And there are
two boxes and a half of fruit."

His eyes were twinkling, but this Peace failed to notice, and she cried
indignantly, "There are _thirty_ boxes! We picked ten last night and
twenty today."

"Oh, those little boxes! Five cents a big box, I meant. That would be
ten cents and half a nickel over; but I will be good and give you
fifteen cents for your work." He drew three battered coins from his
pocket and dropped them into Peace's damp, dirty hand.

She drew in her breath sharply, stared at the money for a moment in dumb
amazement, then let it fly with all her might straight at Mr. Hartman's
head, screaming in a frenzy of anger and disappointment, "You
numscullion of a cheat! Do you s'pose you will ever get to heaven? There
are your old berries! You can hire your chickens to pick them up! I'll
never work for you again!" One shove of the crates, and the beautiful,
tempting fruit lay in a scattered heap inside the chicken yard! And
Peace, blinded by the hot tears of rage, was flying for home with
dismayed Cherry close at her heels.

It was Mr. Hartman's turn to stare, and stare he did, first at the
spoiled fruit and then at the flying girls, too stunned to understand.
The hot blood mounted to his forehe