“Carry them to Mr. Mead. Every two days he sends a supply to market.” “How much does he pay?” asked the widow, brightening up at this glimpse of money to be earned. “Eight cents a quart, payable in groceries. It won’t be much, but will be better than nothing.” “So it will, Harry. I don’t know but I can do better going with you than to stay at home and sew.” “No, mother; you would be sure to get a headache, exposed to the sun in the open pasture. Leave me to pick berries. It is more suitable for me.” “What time will you get home to dinner, Harry?” “I shall not come home till the middle of the afternoon. I’ll take a little lunch with me, and eat in the pasture.” So Harry started out, pail in hand, for the berry pasture. It was about a mile away, and was of large extent, comprising, probably, thirty acres of land. It was Harry’s first expedition of the kind in the season, as his time had been so fully occupied at the store that he had had no leisure for picking berries. The berries were not so plentiful as they had been somewhat earlier, but they were still to be found in considerable quantities. Harry was not alone. Probably a dozen other persons were in the pasture, engaged in the same way as himself. All knew Harry, and some, who had not heard of his loss of place, were surprised to see him there. “And how is it you are here, Harry?” asked Mrs. Ryan, a good-natured Irish woman, who was out, with three of her children, reaping a harvest of berries. “And how can Mr. Mead spare you?” “Because he’s got another boy,” answered Harry. “Shure it was mane to send you away, and your mother nadin’ your wages.” “He couldn’t help it. He had a nephew that needed the place. But, perhaps, I can make a fortune, like you, picking berries.” “And shure you’d have to live a hundred years to do that, and have berries ripe all the year round. It’s hard work, Harry, and poor pay.” “You have the advantage of me, Mrs. Ryan. You’ve got three children to help you.” “And don’t I have to buy food and clothes for the same? Shure, you’re welcome to all they earn, if you’ll board and clothe ’em.” “I didn’t think of that. Perhaps I am better off as I am.” “And so ye are, I’m thinkin’.” Harry found that, exert himself as he might, Mrs. Ryan picked nearly as fast as he did. She was used to it, and her pail filled up rapidly. Harry was glad he did not bring a larger pail, for to him, unaccustomed to bend over, the work was fatiguing, and when, as the town clock struck two, he saw his pail filled to the brim, he breathed a sigh of relief. “If the pail held more, I shouldn’t feel satisfied to stop,” he said to himself, “so I’m glad it doesn’t.” Mrs. Ryan had two pails and a basket, and each of her children carried a small pail, so that she remained in the pasture after Harry left. It was shorter for Harry to go at once to the store, instead of going round by his home, and this he resolved to do.