"Now is the time to pick the cherries!" shouted Charles as he came running in from the garden one July afternoon.
"Are they quite ripe?" said his mother.
"Ripe? I should think so. Just look at them!" answered Charles, pointing to the trees.
"O mamma!" said Mary, "the birds are getting them all. We must have them picked at once."
"Never fear, little girl," said her mother. "There will be enough for the birds and ourselves and our neighbors too. But it really is time to begin to pick them. So, Charles, get a basket, and we will all go out under the cherry-tree."
So out they all went,—Charles and Mary and Ellen and Julia and Ruth; and mamma followed with the baby.
"I told the gardener to bring a ladder," said mamma. "He will be here in a moment, Charles. You can't pick cherries without a ladder, you know."

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