“That is the way to the hearts of those children,” said my wife, at the same time slyly slipping her portion of the pudding upon Bobsey’s plate.

I appeared very blind, but asked her to get me something from the kitchen.  While she was gone, I exchanged my plate of pudding, untouched as yet, for hers, and gave the children a wink.  We all had a great laugh over mamma’s well-assumed surprise and perplexity.  How a little fun will freshen up children, especially when, from necessity, their tasks are long and heavy!

We were startled from the table by a low mutter of thunder.  Hastening out, I saw an ominous cloud in the west.  My first thought was that all should go to the raspberries and pick till the rain drove us in; but Bagley now proved a useful friend, for he shambled up and said:  “If I was you, I’d have those cherries picked fust.  You’ll find that a thunder-shower’ll rot ’em in one night.  The wet won’t hurt the berries much.”

His words reminded me of what I had seen when a boy—­a tree full of split, half-decayed cherries—­and I told him to go to picking at once.  I also sent his eldest boy and Merton into the trees.  Old Jacox was told to get the grass he had cut into as good shape as possible before the shower.  My wife and Mousie left the table standing, and, hastening to the raspberry field, helped Winnie and Bobsey and the other Bagley child to pick the ripest berries.  We all worked like beavers till the vivid flashes and great drops drove us to shelter.

Fortunately, the shower came up slowly, and we nearly stripped the cherry-trees, carrying the fruit into the house, there to be arranged for market in the neat peck-baskets with coarse bagging covers which Mr. Bogart had sent me.  The little baskets of raspberries almost covered the barn floor by the time the rain began, but they were safe.  At first, the children were almost terrified by the vivid lightning, but this phase of the storm soon passed, and the clouds seemed to settle down for a steady rain.

“‘Tisn’t goin’ to let up,” said Bagley, after a while.  “We might as well jog home now as any time.”

“But you’ll get wet,” I objected.

“It won’t be the fust time,” answered Bagley.  “The children don’t mind it any more’n ducks.”

“Well, let’s settle, then,” I said.  “You need some money to buy food at once.”

“I reckon I do,” was the earnest reply.

“There’s a dollar for your day’s work, and here is what your children have earned.  Are you satisfied?” I asked.

“I be, and I thank you, sir.  I’ll go down to the store this evenin’,” he added.

“And buy food only,” I said, with a meaning look.

“Flour and pork only, sir.  I’ve given you my hand on’t;” and away they all jogged through the thick-falling drops.

We packed our fruit for market, and looked vainly for clearing skies in the west.

“There’s no help for it,” I said.  “The sooner I start for the landing the better, so that I can return before it becomes very dark.”