When Anna finished her work and had washed her hands, she came and stood
behind her mother's chair. "Why don't we show Mr. Burden our new fruit
cave?" she asked.
We started off across the yard with the children at our heels. The boys
were standing by the windmill, talking about the dog; some of them ran
ahead to open the cellar door. When we descended, they all came down after
us, and seemed quite as proud of the cave as the girls were. Ambrosch, the
thoughtful-looking one who had directed me down by the plum bushes, called
my attention to the stout brick walls and the cement floor. "Yes, it is a
good way from the house," he admitted. "But, you see, in winter there are
nearly always some of us around to come out and get things."
Anna and Yulka showed me three small barrels; one full of dill pickles,
one full of chopped pickles, and one full of pickled watermelon rinds.
"You would n't believe, Jim, what it takes to feed them all!" their mother
exclaimed. "You ought to see the bread we bake on Wednesdays and
Saturdays! It's no wonder their poor papa can't get rich, he has to buy so
much sugar for us to preserve with. We have our own wheat ground for
flour,--but then there's that much less to sell."
Nina and Jan, and a little girl named Lucie, kept shyly pointing out to me
the shelves of glass jars. They said nothing, but glancing at me, traced
on the glass with their finger-tips the outline of the cherries and
strawberries and crab-apples within, trying by a blissful expression of
countenance to give me some idea of their deliciousness.
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