MISS BARBARA'S RASPBERRIES.
By Jessie L. Britton
[Jessie L. Britton, in Presbyterian Banner.] “I do hope that boy at the next house won't be troublesome,” Miss Barbara murmured, as she and Miss Julia carefully carried in the parlor lamp. “I just can't have him running in and out here half a dozen times a day, tracking in dirt.” Miss Julia's words and tones were assuring. “If we don't take any notice of him whatever, I don't believe he'll trouble us.” So Robbie watched and waited in vain for an opportunity to make the acquaintance of his new neighbors. When the goods were unloaded, the truckman went away with his span of white horses and big wagon. Miss Barbara and Miss Julia went into the house and shut the door, and the boy who had been standing on the steps of the next house went in to talk with his mother. “They don't look half so nice as Mrs. Royce,” he told her. “But you can not always tell how good and kind a woman is by her looks,” his mother counseled. “Who do you suppose will have the raspberries now?” Robbie asked, after a pause. “I think the new neighbors will want the berries themselves,” his mother replied. Down on the bank at the back of the house where Mrs. Royce had lived was a thrifty black raspberry bush; and as Mr. and Mrs. Royce did not care for the berries, Mrs. Royce had given Robbie leave to pick them whenever he liked, which was a privilege that he greatly appreciated. Brother and papa were talking about Godfrey de Bouillon, about whom Roger had been reading, and Robbie's attention was attracted, for he always liked to hear about great men. Robbie and mama talked together about Godfrey de Bouillon when papa and Roger had gone down-town. Robbie asked a good many questions about the great Crusader. “I think it's almost as hard to forgive people when they treat you badly as it is to fight battles,” Robbie said, thoughtfully. Robbie spent the morning working in his flower beds at the back of the house. There was a little strip of land at the back of Robbie's house and the house where Mrs. Royce had lived, where flowers grew luxuriantly. Mrs. Royce gave Robbie a little set of gardener's tools, divided her packages of flower seeds with him and taught him to plant the seeds the first year that she lived in the cottage; and since that time he had been an enthusiastic gardener. In the afternoon he thought he would go on the bank just to see if the raspberries were ready to be picked. As Robbie stood looking at them he wondered if the new neighbors had noticed that the berries needed picking. Then he picked one and ate it; it was delicious. He picked another and ate that, and then another; and then—then some dreadful cold thing came dashing with such force as almost to knock him down. He screamed and turned to meet Miss Barbara, with an empty water pail in her hand. “Why are you here?” Miss Barbara asked in well-feigned surprise. “You had better keep away from this raspberry bush, for I'm going to take the best care of it. I presume I shall wet it every day this warm weather, and you'll be liable to get wet again if you're over here.” Robbie did not wait to hear more. He ran as tho for his life for home. When he reached his mother's arms he cried as he had not cried for a long time, and between his sobs his mother could distinguish these words: “I hate the stingy old thing! Yes, I do!” Miss Julia met Miss Barbara as she came in at the back door. “What did he say? I saw you gave him a good wetting.” “He didn't say anything, but he made tracks for home, and I think he will stay there now.” “But don't you suppose his folks will be dreadfully put out about it?” Miss Julia asked apprehensively. “If they keep on their land I shan't bother them; but, just as long as we pay our rent here, we're going to have what belongs to us, and we're not going to be troubled by boys, either,” Miss Barbara replied in a very decided tone. Somewhat later the two ladies were greatly surprised to see the “troublesome boy” coming up the front walk. “What on earth can he want now!” Miss Barbara ejaculated. There was a timid knock at the door, and Miss Barbara answered the summons. There were still traces of tears on Robbie's face, but he spoke bravely. “I didn't pick but just three of your berries; but of course I hadn't any right to touch one. Mrs. Royce didn't care for black raspberries and she always gave them to me, so I guess I was so used to picking them that I didn't think; but I won't ever do it again. I thought you would be real busy, seeing you've just moved in; and won't you please let me pick the rest of them for you to make up for what I ate? I won't eat one single one of them,” he added impressively. Miss Barbara stared in astonishment. “We are pretty busy, but I guess we can find time to pick them ourselves,” she said hesitatingly. “But I want to make it right, and I can't think of any other way, and I wish you'd let me do it,” Robbie pleaded. And Miss Barbara surprised herself and sister by saying, “Well, if you want to so bad, you may.” Then she brought a bright tin dish from her pantry for Robbie to pick the berries in. After Robbie left the house the sisters looked wonderingly at each other. Then Miss Julia broke the silence. “He's a perfect little gentleman! But I shouldn't think he would have dared to come over here again. Don't you suppose he hated to?” “I don't believe he enjoyed it very much,” Miss Barbara said meditatively. O Miss Barbara, you never dreamed how hard it was to come! When Robbie came in the dish was heaping full of berries. “I picked every one that was ripe,” he said, smilingly. “I think you must have,” Miss Barbara replied. “I want you to take some of them home, for you have more than paid for the few you ate.” “O, I don't want to, indeed I don't!” Robbie protested earnestly. Miss Barbara could see that he meant what he said, so she forbore to urge the matter; but as Robbie was about to go home she said apologetically—it was a very unusual thing for Miss Barbara to apologize—“I guess you are a real good boy after all, and I am afraid I was too hard on you; but I think we shall be friends hereafter.” “Here comes a conqueror, I am sure,” mama said, with one of her brightest smiles, as she opened the door for Robbie when he returned. “Yes, I conquered. It was awfully hard to do, almost as hard as some of Godfrey de Bouillon's battles, I guess; but I am so glad I did it, for she says we are going to be friends now.”