Yes, Willie had heard him, and Margery was certainly right in intimating that the young gravedigger was exceptionally fluent in cuss words. With cause and effect so clearly demonstrated, Willie Jones had no further argument against Margery's conception of a prompt and well-deserved judgment. He was silent a moment, then went back to something else. "So you think you oughtn't to have gone into the blackberry patch at all?" "Why, of course I think so! I know so! Wasn't there a sign up not to? Why, taking blackberries when there's a sign up is not much better than downright stealing!" "H'm," murmured Willie Jones with interest. Then after a pause he said: "Now, Margery, listen here: if you feel as bad about it as all that I tell you what I'll do--I'll take your share of blame for the berries. I'll tell everybody that I picked 'em all." Margery turned heavy eyes on her companion and, sick as she was, saw through his little scheme at once. He was offering her a chance to give up her share of tainted profits. "Thank you, Willie, thank you very much, but I guess I'll just tell the truth about the berries. It wouldn't be fair to you if I didn't." Willie protested that it would be all right, but Margery was firm. "No, Willie, I did pick half of them, that's all there is about it, and you mustn't pretend I didn't. . . . Oh, oh, I wonder do I look as sick as I feel?" Willie scanned her colorless face and, under the delusion that sick folk desire to look as nearly well as possible, said: "No, you're looking all right." The expression of indignant protest which his cheerful remark excited showed him his mistake, and he added, rather lamely: "You do look kind of thin, though." "Thin!" Margery snorted. "Why, Willie Jones, if you were one-half as sick as I am this minute, why, you--you'd be dead long ago! O-oh! My head, and my stummick, and my finger, too! But my finger's not as bad as my head and my stummick. Oh, how I wish that Effie was here!" "Effie?" "Yes, Effie. She'd have me well in two minutes." "I hope you don't think we'll find Effie when we get home." "Why not?" "Don't you remember what she said when we started out? Don't you know she said she was going to her brother's house because we called her a hired girl?" For the moment Margery had forgotten, and now, at this sudden reminder, she was so overcome she had to sit down for a few moments and rest on the curbstone. "Oh," she groaned, "you don't think she really meant it, do you, Willie? What'll I do if she's not there? There's no one else knows how to make me thr'up like Effie! She always does it for me. Why, I'll just die, I know I will, if she's not there!" "I'm sorry, Margery, but even if she is there, I don't think she'll do anything for you this time. She's pretty mad at both of us." "Willie Jones," Margery said, with sudden determination, "you've got to do something. You've just _got_ to!" "What?" "You've got to apologize to Effie for calling her a hired girl."