e explained to
the interested circle around the supper-table, "it's just preserving
time, and the Terrace folks will be glad to buy more berries than Lucy
can possibly pick. Let's have a bee and help her out. She took a day off
to drive us to the picnic, and it's only fair that we should take a day
to work for her."

It was not necessary for Peggy to use her persuasive arts to induce the
others to agree to the plan. Berry-picking as an occupation had lost its
charm for most of them, but berry-picking with the generous purpose
Peggy had suggested, was quite another matter. After they had calculated
Lucy's probable profits for a single day, if she could be sure of five
or six volunteer helpers, enthusiasm ran high. Claire's pensive hope,
voiced with a sigh, that it wouldn't be too blisteringly hot, was passed
over without comment.

It was decided to carry a picnic luncheon to the berry pasture and have
the hearty meal of the day after their return. Aunt Abigail though
heartily approving the plan, begged off from joining the party. "Dorothy
and I are not quite old enough yet to be of much assistance," she said
with a funny little grimace. "We lack the patience that will come with
years."

"But, Aunt Abigail," Ruth protested, "you couldn't stay here all by
yourself. You'd be lonely."

Aunt Abigail's laugh indicated derision. "It'll be a pleasant sensation.
Why, you chatter-boxes keep things in such an uproar that I haven't had
a chance for quiet, connected thought since I landed here. Go along. I
shall be glad to be rid of you."

The season for the red raspberries was nearly over, but the blackberries
were ripening fast. "My, but I'm glad they're not blueberries," Amy
confided to Peggy. "Think of picking a six-quart pail full of
shoe-buttons, or what amounts to that. Now, blackberries count up."

The adage that many hands make light work was never better exemplified
than on that July day in the berry pasture. Even Lucy lost a little of
her air of stern resolution and found herself curiously observant of her
surroundings, as if she were regarding them through the unaccustomed
eyes of girls who were city bred. She even joined, though with all the
awkwardness of a novice, in the gay chatter which went on about the
laden bushes. Lucy had always looked on picking berries as a serious
business, like life itself. She was a little astonished to see these
girls turning it into play, leavening it with laughter. Lucy had been