120 THE LAND OF PLUCK

“Tom!” she called out at last, swaying herself lithely
round and round her wooden door-post, “the blackberries
are ripe.”

“You don’t say so!” exclaimed Tom, in surprise.

“Yes, Ido. And, Tom, there are bushels of them in the
woods just outside of the city gates.”

“Oh!” answered Tom, “I wonder if there are!”

“T now it,” said little Wisk, decidedly, “and I ’m going
to get some.”

“Dear me!” thought Tom, “T wonder if she ’d like to
have me go with her. Wisk !”

“What, Tom ?”

“Oh, nothing,” said the frightened fellow, suddenly
changing his mind, “I was only wondering whether it is
going to rain or not.”

“Rain? Of course not,” laughed little Wisk, as she
ran off to join a group of children going toward the north
city-gate ; “but even if it should rain, what matter 2?”

“Oh,” thought Tom, “she ’s really gone for blackberries !
T wondered what she had that little kettle on her arm for.
Pshaw! Why did n’t T tell her that I ’d like to go too?”

Just then his mother came to the door, clapping a wet
ruffle between her hands. She was a clear-starcher.

“Tom, Tom! why dowt you set about something!
There ’s plenty to do, in doors and out, if you ’d only
think so.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Tom, wondering whether or not he
was going to have a scolding.

“But you look pale, my pet; go and play. Do. One
does n’t often have such a perfect day as this (and such