esn't make any difference to you," said Charlotte, coldly.

"Yes, it does; it does, Charlotte! When I heard about Thomas Payne, I
felt as if--if it would make you happy. I--"

"What about Thomas Payne?" asked Charlotte, sharply.

"I heard--how he was coming to see you--"

"Do you mean that you want me to marry Thomas Payne, Barney Thayer?"

"I want you to be happy, Charlotte."

"Do you want me to marry Thomas Payne?"

Barney was silent.

"Answer me," cried Charlotte.

"Yes, I do," replied Barney, firmly, "if it would make you happy."

"You want me to marry Thomas Payne?" repeated Charlotte. "You want me
to be his wife instead of yours, and go to live with him instead of
you? You want me to live with another man?"

"It ain't right for you not to get married," Barney said, and his
voice was hoarse and strange.

"You want me to get married to another man? Do you know what it
means?"

Barney gave a groan that was half a cry.

"Do you?"

"Oh, Charlotte!" Barney groaned, as if imploring her for pity.

"You want me to marry Thomas Payne, and live with him--"

"He'd--make you a good husband. He's--Charlotte--I can't. You've got
to be happy. It isn't right--I can't--"

"Well," said Charlotte, "I will marry him. Good-night, Barney
Thayer." She went swiftly out of the yard.

"Charlotte!" Barney called after her, as if against his will; but she
never turned her head.

Chapter VII

On the north side of the old tavern was a great cherry orchard. In
years back it had been a source of considerable revenue to Silas
Berry, but for some seasons his returns from it had been very small.
The cherries had rotted on the branches, or the robins had eaten
them, for Silas would not give them away. Rose and her mother would
smuggle a few small baskets of cherries to Sylvia Crane and Mrs.
Barnard, but Silas's displeasure, had he found them out, would have
been great. "I ain't a-goin' to give them cherries away to nobody,"
he would proclaim. "If folks don't want 'em enough to pay for 'em
they can go without."

Many a great cherry picnic had been held in Silas Berry's orchard.
Parties had come in great rattling wagons from all the towns about,
and picked cherries and ate their fill at a most overreaching and
exorbitant price.

There were no cherries like those in Silas Berry's orchard in all the
country roundabout. There was no competition, and for many years he
had had it all his own way. The young people's appet