274 THE LAND OF PLUCK

“Jake! Jake! Jake Delany!” screamed the chorus.

“What ’s a-wantin’?” shouted back a gruff voice from
the Delany shanty, which, with its low roof (like an old
hat) slouching over its clear windows, stood quite near.

“Oh! we want you to come help us get some apple-
blossoms. Come quick! we can’t reach.”

Laviny ran to the door and the aunt followed briskly.
Tt was just noon. Jake Delany, Mrs. Delany’s great, good-
natured son, was shuffling his way toward Eliza Green’s
hut, and right outside, close to the very door-step, pressed
a troop of happy, soiled, ragged, laughing children—and
all carrying flowers! The girls had them in their aprons ;
the boys, bareheaded, held them in their hats and caps.
One girl had a pailful of grass and dandelions, and a
chubby little fellow, with red hair, held an old cracked
pitcher full of blossoms and sprays of willow.

At the kindergarten up the village street the children
rushed to the door and windows eager to see what was
happening.

And nearer still, Mrs. Delany’s little girl—younger than
Jake—stood gazing wistfully at the merry crowd.

“Come along, Ma-ri-er,” shouted some one; “ we ’re going
to have lots of fun!”

“T can’t,’ Maria called back. “The children are kind
of ailin’ and Ma can’t spare me. I ’ve got to stay home
with them.”

“Hallo, Laviny!” shouted half a dozen; “we ’re going
to be needin’ you soon.”

“Needin’ me?” almost screamed Laviny, her face spark-
ling with delight and astonishment. “Why, what for?”