She stemmed and
stemmed until her hands were sticky and her fingers ached. A thick
yellow sunbeam came crawling to her feet; the flies buzzed, diving
through the air as though it were heavy; the cat beside her slept and
woke. It seemed to the child that she had always been in that spot and
that there would never be anything but a hot morning and piles of
shining cherries. She was looking toward the orchard where her swing
hung empty when Calista hurried by the door. "Have you done them all?"
she called. "Not? Well, then you finish them quick."

The cherries lasted until dinner-time, and when that was over Mary
climbed on her father's bed and slept all afternoon. When she came out
the first thing she saw was the egg-basket piled full. "If you want to
go along for eggs you ought to be here when I am ready," said Calista.

The little creature made no noise, but her father looked at her hard as
he sat down to supper. "What's the matter?" he asked.

She did not answer, and Calista said, "Oh--!" with the peculiar German
inflection of contemptuous patience. Conrad said no more.

After supper Mary wandered out, and her aunt had to call her several
times. "Where were you?" she asked.

"Down there." The child pointed to the orchard. "A lady was there."

Calista went to the edge of the porch and shaded her eyes. "I don't see
her," she said. "Who was she?"

"I don't know."

"Did you never see her before?"

"No, ma'am."

"What did she look like?"

Mary thought hard, with the puzzled face of one who lacks words and
comparisons to convey an image that is clear enough. Calista walked a
little way into the orchard, then she looked up and down the road.

"Wasn't it Mrs. Albrecht?" she asked. "Well, I guess it makes nothing.
Come, you must go to bed. I stay with you." With a mocking expression
she held out her hand as to a very small child, and the little girl
walked into the house without a word, not noticing the hand.

When she was asleep Calista came back to the porch with some sewing.
Conrad appeared from the barn, stood about for a moment, and strolled
toward the orchard; then he walked in the garden for a while; finally he
sat on the step with his back to her, saying nothing and looking at the
sky. She preserved the silence of a bird-tamer.

"It's a nice evening," he said at last.

"Yes."

"Good weather for hay."

"Yes, fine."

"One field is about ready to cut. You better tell Aunt Hannah to come
home. It's t