Barney had not wished to play, but he played with zeal, only he never seemed to see Charlotte’s fingers on the rope, and Charlotte never saw his.  The girls’ cheeks flushed deeper, their smooth locks became roughened.  The laughter waxed louder and longer; the matrons looking on doubled their broad backs with responsive merriment.  It became like a little bacchanalian rout in a New England field on a summer afternoon, but they did not know it in their simple hearts.

At six o’clock the mist began to rise, the sunlight streamed through the trees in slanting golden shafts, long drawn out like organ chords.  The young people gathered up their pails and baskets and went home, flocking down the road together, calling back farewells to Rose and William and their mother, who stood in front of the tavern watching them out of sight.

They were not quite out of sight when they came to Hiram Baxter’s little house, and Silas Berry emerged from the shop door.  “Hullo!” he cried out, and they all stopped, smiling at him with a cordiality which had in it a savor of apology.  Indeed, Thomas Payne had just remarked, with a hearty chorus of assents, that he guessed the old man wasn’t so bad after all.

Silas advanced towards them; he also was smiling.  He fumbled in his waistcoat pocket, and drew out a roll of paper which he shook out with trembling fingers.  He stepped close to Thomas Payne and extended it.

“What is it?” asked the young man.

Silas smiled up in his face with the ingenuous smile of a child.

“What is it?” Thomas Payne asked again.

The others crowded around.

“It’s nothin’ but the bill,” replied Silas, in a wheedling whisper.  His dry old face turned red, his smile deepened.

“The bill for what?” demanded Thomas Payne, and he seized the paper.

“For the cherries you eat,” replied Silas.  “I’ve always been in the habit of chargin’ more, but I’ve took off a leetle this time.”  His voice had a ring of challenge, his eyes were sharp, while his mouth smiled.

Thomas Payne scowled over the bill.  The other young men peered at it over his shoulder, and repeated the amount with whistles and half-laughs of scorn and anger.  The girls ejaculated to each other in whispers.  Silas stood impervious, waiting.

The young men whipped out their purses without a word, but Thomas motioned them back.  “I’ll pay, and we’ll settle afterwards.  We can’t divide up here,” he said, and he crammed some money hard in Silas’s eagerly outstretched hand.  “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Berry,” said Thomas Payne, his face all flaming and his eyes flashing, but his voice quite steady.  “I hope you’ll have as good luck selling your cherries next year.”

There was a little exulting titter over the sarcasm among the girls, in which Rebecca did not join; then the party kept on.  The indignant clamor waxed loud in a moment; they scarcely waited for the old man’s back to be turned on his return to the tavern.