She came back to her work, catching eagerly at the homely suggestion of duty. "I'll finish them," she said, taking a dish out of her daughter's hand; "you brighten up the fire and get the potatoes." The girl walked away without looking up. When she came into the room a little later with an armful of wood, Mrs. Wickersham was standing by the stove. "Emmy," she said in a whisper, taking hold of her daughter's dress and drawing her toward her, "don't tell your brother I had to pay cash to the balers. It took all the ready money I had in the house: I'd rather he didn't know it." "What's the matter, mother?" asked the girl, looking steadily into the older woman's worried face. "He wants five dollars next week," whispered Mrs. Wickersham, nodding toward the door; "I hain't got it." The girl threw the wood into the woodbox and stood gazing intently at it. She had a quaint, oval face, and the smooth folds of her dark hair made a triangle of her high forehead. Two upright lines formed themselves in the triangle as she gazed. She turned away without speaking, and took a pan from the shelf and went into the shed-room for potatoes. When she came back, she walked to her mother's side, and said in a low voice,-- "You needn't worry about the money any more, mother. I'll get it for Ben." "_You_, Em!" "Yes; I'm going over to Bassett's raisin-camp to pick grapes." "Oh, I don't think I'd do _that_, Emmy!" "Why, what's wrong about it?" "There's nothing wrong about it, of course; I didn't mean that. Only it seems so--so kind of strange. None of the women folks in our family's ever done anything of that kind." "Then the women folks in our family will have to begin. I can get a dollar a day. The Burnham girls went, and they're as good as we are. I'm going, anyway,"--the girl's red lips shut themselves in a narrow line. "Oh, they're all _good_ enough, Emmy," protested Mrs. Wickersham; "it's nothing against them, only it's going out to work. You know the way men folks feel--I don't know what your brother will say." "You can tell him I've set my heart on it. They have great fun over there. He wanted me to go camping to the beach with the same crowd of young folks this summer. I'll not stay at night, mother; I'll walk home every evening. It's no use saying anything, I'm going." "Is Steve Elliott at the camp?" asked Benny, when his mother told him. "She didn't say anything about him, Benny, but I suppose he is. Why?" "I guess that explains it," said the invalid, smiling wistfully. II. Nearly every available grape-picker in the little valley was at Bassett's vineyard. There was a faint murmur of surprise when Em walked into the camp on Monday morning. "I thought you weren't coming, Em," said Irene Burnham, curving her smooth, sunburned neck away from the tall young fellow who stood beside her. "I changed my mind," said Em quietly.