His knees were bent and his cumbrously shod feet pointed far outward from
his line of progress. He wore an aged frock coat and a battered stiff hat,
although the month was June. His small face, beginning with a smoothly
curved forehead and ending with a cleanly cut chin, was mild and
conciliating, shiny, and of the colour of light chocolate. He carried a tin
bucket full of cherries. Pop Thornberry was returning to the town.
Pop, whose proper name was Moses, and who was a deacon in the African
Methodist Church, made his living this way and that way. He did odd jobs
for people, and he fished and hunted when fishing and hunting were in
season.
On this June day he had risen early and walked three miles to pick cherries
"on shares." He had picked ten quarts and left four of them with the
farmer whose trees had produced them. At six cents a quart he would profit
thirty-six cents by his walk of six miles and his work of a half-day.
The sun was scorching and Pop was tired. He decided to rest in the barren
field, at its very edge in shade of the woods. He climbed the zigzag fence
with some labour and at the expense of a few of his cherries.
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