at she was there for. It was a
thicket of thorns and fruit; the berries, large, purple, dewy with
bloom, hung in quantities, almost in masses, around her. It was only
needful sometimes to hold her basket underneath and give a touch to the
fruit; and it dropped, fast and thick, into her hands. But she felt as
if the cool soft berries hurt her fingers. She wondered whereabouts was
pretty Miss Masters now, making believe pick, and with fingers at hand
to supplement her, and looks and words to make labour sweet, even if it
were labour. "But _she_ will never do any work," said Diana to herself;
"and he will be quite willing that she should not." And then she
noticed her own fingers; a little coarsened with honest usefulness they
were--a little; and a little embrowned with careless exposure. Not
white and pearly and delicate like those of that other hand. And Diana
remembered that Mr. Knowlton's own were delicate and white; and she
could understand, she thought, that a man would like in a woman he
loved, all daintinesses and delicacies, even although they pertained to
the ornamental rather than to the useful. It was the first time Diana
had ever wished for white hands; she did wish for them now, or rather
regret the want of them, with a sharp, sore point of regret. Even
though it would have made no difference.

Picking and thinking and fancying herself safe, Diana made a plunge to
get through an uncommonly tangled thicket of interlacing branches, and
found herself no longer alone. Miss Gunn was three feet off, squatting
on the ground to pick the more restfully; and on the other side of her
was Diana's cousin, Nick Boddington.

"Hullo, Di!" was his salutation, "where have you left my wife and the
rest of the folks?"

"I don't know, Nick; I haven't left them at all."

"What did you come here for, then?"

"What did you?"

"I declare! I came to have the better chance, me and Miss Gunn; I
thought where nobody was, I'd have it all to myself. I'll engage you
are disappointed to find us--now, ain't you?"

"The field is big enough, cousin Nick."

"Don't know about that. What is become of your fine people?"

"I haven't any fine people."

"What's become o' them you _had_, then? You brought 'em here; have you
deserted 'em?"

"I came to do work, Nick; and I'm doing it."

"What did they come for? have you any guess? 'Tain't likely they come
to pick blackberries."

"I told Mis' Reverdy," said Miss Gunn smotheredly from the