They're goin' to flit again," said Newbigging.
"The Indians?" asked Vale.
"Ay. They're leavin' Chaird in the lurch this time. That is, they're all leavin' but the eldest daughter and her husband, and young Fawnie and Jammery. Chaird's fair wild."
"I suppose he'll be after my few Mistwell pickers now."
"He'll never get them. They're insulted because he turned them away for Indians."
"But why are they leaving?"
"It's the auld man—Solomon. He was fiddlin' away at the door of his cottage yesterday when up marched Chaird and told him that the black caps were droppin' off the bushes. 'Let 'em drop,' says Solomon. 'The spirit's on me to fiddle and I've got to fiddle though every berry in the country rots.' Chaird said he would not have an Indian on his farm who would not pick every day and all day. Solomon said that was all very well for squaws, but he was a chief and a gentleman and old Mr. Vale had always treated him as such. This morning he and his family are all packed up ready to go to Reuben MacNeil who grows hops as well as fruit, so auld Solomon says he'll 'make plenty money' there. It sairves Chaird right, and nobody's sorry for him."
Derek, however, could not help feeling sorry for Chard. He had experienced so much anxiety himself over his
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