The party landed and scattered with cries of delight far and near over the valley.  Even Elizabeth’s composure gave way.  For a little while they did nothing but scatter; to sit still and pick was impossible; for the novelty and richness of the store seemed made for the eye as much as for anything else, and be the berries never so red in one place they seemed redder in another.  Winthrop and Asahel, however, were soon steadily at work, and then little Winifred; and after a time Miss Cadwallader found that the berries were good for more than to look at, and Rufus had less trouble to keep in her neighbourhood.  But it was a good while before Elizabeth began to pick either for lip or basket; she stood on the viney knolls, and looked, and smelled the air, and searched with her eye the openings in the luxuriant foliage that walled in the valley.  At last, making a review of the living members of the picture, the young lady bethought herself, and set to work with great steadiness to cover the bottom of her basket.

In the course of this business, moving hither and thither as the bunches of red fruit tempted her, and without raising an eye beyond them, she was picking close to one of the parties before she knew whom she was near; and as they were in like ignorance she heard Asahel say,

“I wish Rufus would pick —­ he does nothing but eat, ever since he came; he and Miss Rose.”

“You don’t expect her to pick for you, do you?” said Winthrop.

“She might just as well as for me to pick for her,” said Asahel.

“Do you think we’ll get enough for mamma, Governor?” said little Winifred in a very sweet, and a little anxious, voice.

“We’ll try,” said her brother.

“O you’ve got a great parcel! —­ but I have only so many, —­ Governor?”

“There’s more where those came from, Winnie.”

“Here are some to help,” said Elizabeth coming up and emptying her own strawberries into the little girl’s basket.  Winifred looked down at the fresh supply and up into the young lady’s face, and then gave her an “Oh thank you!” of such frank pleasure and astonishment that Elizabeth’s energies were at once nerved.  But first of all she went to see what Miss Cadwallader was about.

Miss Cadwallader was squatting in a nest of strawberries, with red finger-ends.

“Rose —­ how many have you picked?”

“I haven’t the least idea.  Aren’t they splendid?”

“Haven’t you any in your basket?”

“Basket? —­ no, —­ where is my basket?” said she looking round.  “No, to be sure I haven’t.  I don’t want any basket.”

“Why don’t you help?”

“Help?  I’ve been helping myself, till I’m tired.  Come here and sit down, Bess.  Aren’t they splendid?  Don’t you want to rest?”

“No.”

Miss Rose, however, quitted the strawberries and placed herself on a rock.

“Where’s my helper? —­ O yonder, —­ somebody’s got hold of him.  Lizzie, —­ who’d have thought we should be so well off for beaux here in the mountains?”