But first of all she went to see what Miss Cadwallader was about.
Miss Cadwallader was squatting in a nest of strawberries, with red finger-ends.
"Rose -- how many have you picked ?" "I haven't the least idea.

Aren't they splendid ?" "Haven't you any in your basket ?" "Basket?
-- no, -- where is my basket ?" said she looking round.
"No, to be sure I haven't.

I don't want any basket." "Why don't you help ?" "Help?
I've been helping myself, till I'm tired.

Come here and sit down, Bess.

Aren't they splendid?
Don't you want to rest ?" "No." Miss Rose, however, quitted the strawberries and placed herself on a rock.
"Where's my helper?
-- O yonder, -- somebody's got hold of him.
Lizzie, -- who'd have thought we should be so well off for beaux here in the mountains ?" The other's brow and lip changed, but she stood silent.
"They don't act like farmer's sons, do they?
I never should have guessed it if I had seen them anywhere else.