“There are more ripe, papa, than I thought there would be.”

“Then, Winnie, you and Bobsey must leave the weeding in the garden and help Merton pick berries this afternoon.”

“As soon as it gets cooler,” said my wife, “Mousie and I are going to pick, also.”

“Very well,” I agreed.  “You can give us raspberries and milk to-night, and so you will be getting supper at the same time.  Until the hay is ready to come in, I shall keep on hoeing in the garden, the weeds grow so rapidly.  Tomorrow will be a regular fruit day all around, for there are two more cherry-trees that need picking.”

Our short nooning over, we all went to our several tasks.  The children were made to feel that now was the chance to win our bread for months to come, and that there must be no shirking.  Mousie promised to clear away the things while my wife, protected by a large sun-shade, walked slowly down to the Bagley cottage.  Having seen that Merton and his little squad were filling the baskets with raspberries properly, I went to the garden and slaughtered the weeds where they threatened to do the most harm.

At last I became so hot and wearied that I thought I would visit a distant part of the upland meadow, and see how Bagley was progressing.  He was raking manfully, and had accomplished a fair amount of work, but it was evident that he was almost exhausted.  He was not accustomed to hard work, and had rendered himself still more unfit for it by dissipation.

“See here, Bagley,” I said, “you are doing well, but you will have to break yourself into harness gradually.  I don’t wish to be hard upon you.  Lie down under this tree for half an hour, and by that time I shall be out with the wagon.”

“Mr. Durham, you have the feelin’s of a man for a feller,” said Bagley, gratefully.  “I’ll make up the time arter it gets cooler.”

Returning to the raspberry patch, I found Bobsey almost asleep, the berries often falling from his nerveless hands.  Merton, meanwhile, with something of the spirit of a martinet, was spurring him to his task.  I remembered that the little fellow had been busy since breakfast, and decided that he also, of my forces, should have a rest.  He started up when he saw me coming through the bushes, and tried to pick with vigor again.  As I took him up in my arms, he began, apprehensively, “Papa, I will pick faster, but I’m so tired!”

I reassured him with a kiss which left a decided raspberry flavor on my lips, carried him into the barn, and, tossing him on a heap of hay, said, “Sleep there, my little man, till you are rested.”

He was soon snoring blissfully, and when I reached the meadow with the wagon, Bagley was ready to help with the loading.

“Well, well!” he exclaimed, “a little breathin’-spell does do a feller good on a hot day.”

“No doubt about it,” I said.  “So long as you are on the right road, it does no harm to sit down a bit, because when you start again it’s in the right direction.”