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And then it was as good as a play to me. Don't you never git tired o' trottin' a mile in a bushel, Mis' Starlin'? So I was jest a tellin' Diany" "Where's the minister?" "Most likely he's where she is up-stairs. He won't let nobody else do a hand's turn for her.
"Hullo, Diany!" said Mr. Carpenter on the other side, "you're coming it strong to-day. Got no one to help ye? Sha'n't I fetch 'Lizy? she's big enough to do som'thin'. I vow I want another cup. You see, it's hard work, is picking blackberries. I ain't master here; and my wife, she keeps me hard at it.
What the women does with 'em all, beats me. Anyhow, the old lady'll have enough this time for all her wants." "How is she, Joe, to-day?" "Days don't make no difference to my mother, Diany. You know that, don't ye? There don't nothin' come wrong to her. I vow, I b'lieve she kind o' likes it when things is contrairy.
Vaguely Diana's mind felt and carried on the analogy, and the reasoning from analogy, and drew a chill, far-off hope from it. For it was the time of storm and desolation with her now, and the summer sun had not come yet. She sat musing while the old lady slumbered. "Hullo, Diany! here you be!" exclaimed the voice of Joe Bartlett, suddenly breaking in.
I b'lieve in fun too; I do sartain; but I don't b'lieve in scratchin' it into you with blackberry brambles, nor no other. Thank'e, Diany; maybe this'll help me get along with the afternoon." "I never thought you would mind blackberry thorns, Joe." "No more I don't, come in the way o' business," said Joe, sipping his coffee.
"Wall, Diany," exclaimed Joe Bartlett, now drawing near with his coffee cup, "how comes you have all the work and other folks all the fun?" "Want some coffee, Joe?" "Fact, I do; that is, supposin' you have got any." "Plenty, Joe. That's what I am here for. Hold your cup. Who are you picking for to-day?" "Wall, I ain't here for fun," said Joe; "there's no mistake about that.
"Wall," said Joe, "I'm a little happier for that 'ere cup o' coffee. I'll go at it agin now. Who's that 'ere little bundle o' muslin ruffles, Diany? she's a kind o' pretty creatur', too. She hain't sot down this hull noonspell. Who is it?" "Miss Masters." "She ain't none o' the family o' our parson?" "A cousin, I believe." "Cousin, eh," said Joe. "She hain't set down once.
"But I s'pose you've got a kind word for every one, ha'n't you, Miss Starling?" "Diany," said the voice of Joe Bartlett, who was pushing his way towards her through the bushes, "Diany! Here you be! Here's your mother lookin' for ye. Got all you want? It's gettin' time to make tracks for hum. The sun's consid'able low." "I'm ready, Joe."
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