Presently Cynthia returned with her aunt. Miss Walden was then sixty, but she looked seventy-five at least; she was a stern, detached woman who dealt with things individually and as she could--she never sought to comprehend that which was not writ large and clear. She was not a dull nor an ignorant woman, but she had been carried on the sluggish current of life with small effort or resistance. She did her task and made no demands. "So you're Morley's boy?" she asked curiously; she had still the interest of the great lady for her dependents. The Morleys had become long since "poor whites," but Ann Walden knew their traditions. The family had slunk into hiding ever since Martin had taken the Woman Mary into his cabin, and Miss Walden was surprised and aroused to find one of them coming to the surface at her back door with so unusual a request as Cynthia had repeated. "Yes, ma'am;" Sandy replied, his strange eyes fixed upon the calm old face. "And what do you want?" "I want to sell eight quarts of strawberries, ma'am. They are five cents a quart; that's what they are giving down to The Forge." "Then why don't you take them to The Forge?" "The heat, ma'am, will wilt them. They are right fresh now--I thought I'd give you-all the first chance." "And you want money for the berries--and you in rags and starved, I warrant?" "Yes, ma'am." Ann Walden grew more interested. "Would you--take eggs for them?" she asked; "eggs are bringing twenty cents a dozen now." "Yes, ma'am." "How do I know you are honest? How do I know the basket isn't stuffed with leaves in the bottom? What's your name?" "Sandy, ma'am. And please, ma'am, you can measure the berries." "Ivy, bring the quart measure, and the earthen bowl." When the implements were brought, Miss Walden took things in her own hands, while Ivy, with the disdain of the old family black servant for the poor white, stood by like an avenging Fate. The child Cynthia was all a-tremble. She was young, lovely, and vital. Youth took up arms for youth, and watched the outcome with jealous and anxious eyes. "One, two, three----" the rich, fragrant fruit fell into the bowl with luscious, soft thuds; the red juice oozed out like fresh blood. "Five, six, seven--eight, and----" "A lot left over, Aunt Ann, counting dents in the measure and all." It was Cynthia who spoke, and her big, gray eyes were dancing in triumph. "More'n eight quarts, Aunt Ann." "Umph!" ejaculated Ivy. "Give the boy two dozen eggs and three over," commanded Miss Walden. "Take them to Tod Greeley at the post office and tell him they are Walden eggs." After Sandy had departed Ivy aired her views. "I reckon we-all better make jam of dem berries right soon. I clar I allers 'spect to find a yaller streak in dem Morleys." Cynthia was leaning against the kitchen table, her eyes shining and her breath coming a bit quickly.