"You
can talk it over with your mother, an' do jest as you're a mind to
about it, that's all. If you want to have a few of the young folks
over here when them cherries are ripe, you can have four of them
trees to pick off of. I ain't got no more to say about it."
Silas turned in a peremptory and conclusive manner. Rose fairly
gasped as she watched his stiff one-sided progress across the yard.
The vague horror of the unusual stole over her. A new phase of her
father's character stood between her and all her old memories like a
supernatural presence. She left the rest of the linen in the basket
and sought her mother in the house. "Mother!" she called out, in a
cautious voice, as soon as she entered the kitchen. Mrs. Berry's face
looked inquiringly out of the pantry, and Rose motioned her back,
went in herself, and shut the door.
"What be you a-shuttin' the door for?" asked her mother, wonderingly.
"I don't know what has come over father."
"What do you mean, Rose Berry? He 'ain't had another shock?"
"I'm dreadful afraid he's going to! I'm dreadful afraid something's
going to happen to him!"
"I'd like to know what you mean?" Mrs. Berry was quite pale.
"Father says I can have a cherry party, and they needn't pay
anything."
Her mother stared at her. "He didn't!"
"Yes, he did."
They looked in each other's eyes, with silent renewals of doubt and
affirmation.
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