"No, there's nothing like that you could do around here. Tom is
supposed to look after such things, and I don't want to take his jobs
from him. He does little enough as it is, dear knows. He spends so
much of his time at the store that he won't look after the garden. The
strawberries are getting ripe, and I expect they'll rot before he'll
touch them. I never saw such a man. I wish to goodness he had to work
for his living instead, of depending upon what his father left him."

"Let me pick the berries, Miss Arabella," and Rod stepped quickly
forward. "I'll do it for a cent a box, or less if you want me to. I
know a boy who did that and he earned three dollars."

Miss Arabella did not at once reply, and Rod was afraid that she did
not agree to his proposal. She remained silent for a while, plucking
at her dress in a thoughtful manner.

"Rod," she at last began, and her voice was softer than he had ever
heard it, "I am going to give you that patch of berries. It will be
your very own, and you can do what you like with it."

"Oh, Miss Arabella! Surely----"

"There, that will do, now," she snapped. "None of your thanks for me.
You'd better go and get ready to go to work. I saw a good many ripe
berries out there this morning, and you can't afford to waste any time."

Rod didn't walk across the field. There was no slow sauntering home
when he was once out of the house. He burst into the rectory like a
whirlwind, just as the Royals were sitting down to dinner. Breathless