Rosy stared at the sudden change in his manner, and was rather bewildered by his grown-up way of talking to her. But being intent on securing something nice to carry home, she stuck to the cherries, which she did understand, and pointing to the piazza said with a business-like air,—
"There's a basket; so we might pick 'em right away. I love to go up in trees and throw 'em down; and know Cousin Henny will like cherries ever so much, and not scold a bit when I take some to her."
"Then come on," cried Mr. Thomas, relapsing into the hearty manner she liked so much; and away he went, quite briskly, down the path, with his yellow skirts waving in the wind, and Button skipping after him in great glee.
"They actually are a-picking cherries, Miss, up in the tree like a couple of robins a-chirpin and laughin' as gay as can be," reported Roxy, from her peep-hole.
"Rip off the rest of that board, then I can see," whispered Miss Henny, quivering with interest now, for she had heard Mr. Dover's words, and her wrath was appeased by that flattering allusion to herself.
Off came the rest of the board, and from the window, half hidden in woodbine, she could now see over the bushes into the next garden. The peep-hole commanded the tree, and she watched with eager eyes the filling of the basket to be sent her, planning the while a charming note of thanks.
"Do look, Miss; they are resting now, and she's on his knee. Ain't it a pretty picter?" whispered Roxy, unmindful of the earwigs, ants, and daddy-long-legs
