After an unsuccessful search for cherries Bernard climbed a tree where
summer apples hung green, and tossed the fruit to Eugenia, who held up
her blue skirt beneath the overhanging boughs. The puppy, having dodged
in astonishment a stray apple, went off after the silvery track of a
snail.

"That's enough," called Bernard presently, and he descended and filled
his pockets from Eugenia's lap. "They set my teeth on edge, anyway. Got
any salt?"

Eugenia drew a small folded envelope from her pocket. Then she threw
away her apple and pointed to the little brook at the foot of the hill.
"There's that red-winged blackbird in the bulrushes again. I believe
it's got a nest."

And they started in a run down the hillside, the puppy waddling behind
with shrill, impertinent barks.

At the bottom of the hill they lost the blackbird and found Nicholas
Burr, who was lying face downwards upon the earth, a fishing line at his
side.

"He's crying," said Eugenia in a high whisper.

Nicholas rolled over, saw them, and got up, wiping his eyes on the
sleeve of his shirt.

"There warn't nobody lookin'," he said defiantly.