AS Carl Wingate berated the Mexicans for coming to the cherry festival, Juan drew himself up proudly.

“We were invited, Senor.”

“That’s right,” said Veve. “I asked them myself.”

The orchard owner did not hear the little girl speak.

“Get moving!” he ordered the Mexican children again.

Juan’s face puckered up. For a minute he looked as if he might cry. Then he became very angry.

“You will be sorry, Senor,” he muttered. “Very sorry—and soon.”

The other Mexican children looked unhappy. Without saying a word, they climbed back into the battered old car.

“Wait!” called Veve.

Miss Gordon, who had been discussing one of the quilts with a visitor, now hastened forward.

She was too late, though, to speak to the Mexicans. The car had pulled away.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Miss Gordon murmured. “Not for anything in the world would I have hurt their feelings.”

“They had no business being here,” Mr. Wingate said. “They knew it too.”

“But I invited them,” Veve told him. “Juan is my friend.”

“The Mexicans can’t be allowed to attend social affairs. They’re making enough trouble as it is.”

Miss Gordon disagreed with the orchard owner. However, it was too late to recall the Mexican children. So she decided to say no more about the matter just then.

The festival continued. Everyone had a good time, but the Brownies could not forget how Juan and his friends had been sent away. The thought of it made them feel rather unhappy.

Everyone brightened though when Miss Gordon announced that the festival queen had been elected.

She clapped her hands for attention.

“The votes have been counted,” she said. “I take great pleasure in announcing that the queen of our festival is—”

The Brownie leader paused and her gaze wandered from one eager face to another. All of the girls were hoping that they were the one elected.

“Our festival queen is Connie Williams!” she completed. “She received five out of a possible six votes!”

“Hurrah for Connie!” shouted Veve, and the other Brownies took up the cry.

Connie was embarrassed. She had not expected to be chosen. In fact, she had voted for Veve. All the other girls had written her name on their slips.

Miss Gordon placed the golden crown on Connie’s head. The Brownies then escorted her to her throne where she was to remain until the end of the festival.

Next on the program came the auctioning of the crazy quilt.

The Brownies were eager to make more money for the organization. Nevertheless, they had worked long hours at their sewing. To see the quilt put up for sale gave them a queer feeling.

Connie’s father acted as auctioneer.

“What am I bid for this fine Brownie quilt?” he asked the crowd. “Who will start it? Five dollars? Five dollars? Who will bid five dollars?”

A woman who lived on Rosemary’s street, raised her hand.

“Five dollars! Who will make it ten?” shouted Connie’s father.

At once Mr. Davidson nodded his head. Then the first lady bid fifteen dollars.

Mr. Davidson dropped out of the bidding, but Mr. McLean said he would pay twenty dollars for the quilt.

The Brownies were very proud. Twenty dollars for a quilt! Their quilt!

“Twenty dollars!” Mr. Williams shouted, trying to get the bid even higher. “Do I hear twenty-five?”

He looked directly at the woman who had offered fifteen. But she seemed to have lost interest.

Everyone else had stopped bidding except Mr. McLean.

“Going—going for twenty dollars,” began Connie’s father.

At that point, Mr. McLean spoke up.

“I’ll make it twenty-five,” he offered.

The crowd gasped. Mr. McLean already had bid twenty and his was the last bid.

“It’s a fine quilt,” Mr. McLean laughed. “Why, where else could I get one made by a troop of Brownies? My bid of twenty-five dollars stands.”

“Sold to Mr. McLean!” shouted Connie’s father.

He handed the quilt to the Chamber of Commerce man.

Mr. McLean gave Miss Gordon twenty-five dollars in crisp new bills. Then he did a most surprising thing.

He also handed her the Brownie quilt.

“I really have no use for this, although it is a handsome quilt,” he said. “The twenty-five dollars is my contribution to the organization. Keep the quilt, or if you like, put it up and auction it off again.”

The Brownies all gathered around Miss Gordon.

“Keep the quilt!” they urged. “Keep it!”

“Yes, that’s just what we will do,” Miss Gordon nodded. “Our organization will treasure it always. However, it hardly seems right to accept twenty-five dollars without giving something in return.”

“But you have given me something. Two excellent pieces of cherry pie.” Mr. McLean became serious. “And you’ve also planted an idea in my mind. A very valuable idea.”

Miss Gordon did not understand.

“What sort of idea, Mr. McLean?”

“Your cherry festival made me think that it might be worth while to have a large-scale affair—one in which the entire city takes part.”

“Oh, that would be splendid!” Miss Gordon exclaimed.

“I feel sure the orchard owners would cooperate,” the Chamber of Commerce president went on. “We could have several bands and elect the queen.”

“Connie?” interposed Veve. She had heard the conversation.

“For a city-wide festival it might be better to select an older girl,” Mr. McLean replied. “Not that a Brownie queen wouldn’t be fine.”

“Being queen of one festival is enough,” laughed Connie from her throne in the decorated swing.

“As a climax to the festival we might have a giant cherry pie,” Mr. McLean resumed. “One that would be as large as a small room and serve everyone! The pie would contain pounds and pounds of cherries.”

“I wouldn’t venture to bake such a pie,” laughed Miss Gordon. She was rather excited by the plan.

“Oh, a commercial bakery would take over. The pie would not be difficult. Why, our festival might gain national attention. After all, Rosedale is in the heart of the cherry country.”

“It would be worthwhile to advertise the community to the nation,” Miss Gordon agreed. “However, the festival would have to be held very soon for the cherry season is nearly over.”

“Yes, we would need to work fast,” Mr. McLean nodded. “Fortunately, I have a large organization of trained staff members. Now as to the cherry pie—I have another idea!”

By this time all of the Brownies had gathered near to hear what Mr. McLean proposed.

“We’ll bake a cherry pie to take to the President!” he announced.

“To the President of the United States?” Connie asked in awe.

“What better way of bringing to attention the fact that Rosedale has the best cherries in the nation?”

“Oh, it’s a wonderful idea!” Miss Gordon approved. “Quite breath taking! Do you think the festival could be carried through?”

“I’m sure of it. We’ll get every organization in Rosedale to help. May I depend upon your Brownie troop?”

“How about it, girls?” Miss Gordon asked. Of course, she already knew what they would say.

“Yes, yes!” cried the Brownies.

And Veve, quite carried away with the thought of another festival, tossed her Brownie cap into the air and shouted:

“Hurrah, for the cherry festival!”

Other persons at the churchyard affair thought that Veve was acting strangely. In a few minutes, however, word went around of Mr. McLean’s plan. Everyone became very enthusiastic and promised to help.

“We’ll need exhibits,” Mr. McLean went on outlining his plans. “This quilt show, I notice, has attracted the interest of women. We’ll want to repeat the display.”

“Most of the quilts were borrowed,” Miss Gordon explained. “I think, though, that we can arrange to have them again.”

“I’ll loan my autograph quilt,” offered Veve quickly.

Mr. McLean said that because the cherries were ripening so fast, it would be necessary to have the festival early in the coming week.

“My organization will look after everything,” he promised Miss Gordon. “If the Brownies take responsibility for the quilt show, that’s all they’ll be called upon to do.”

Miss Gordon assured the Chamber of Commerce president that the girls would have a much better quilt display for the next festival. Now that the organization was through picking at Pa Hooper’s orchard, the girls would have ample time to search for other coverlets.

After Mr. McLean had moved on, the Brownies excitedly discussed their plans. They hoped to obtain at least twenty quilts for their show.

“I wish Connie or one of the Brownies could be queen at the next festival as well as this one,” Veve remarked.

Miss Gordon did not share her view. She felt that Brownies should remain in the background at any public gathering.

“But just think of taking a cherry pie to the President of the United States,” Veve sighed enviously.

Even though the hour was early, a few persons began to leave the churchyard. Soon the Brownie festival would be over.

“It’s been a wonderful success,” Rosemary said happily. “And just think! We made twenty-five dollars for our crazy quilt.”

“What’s more, we still have the quilt,” chuckled Jane. “That’s what I call good business.”

Connie had been gazing over the thinning crowd.

“It’s odd Pa Hooper didn’t come,” she remarked. “He said he might bring our check for the cherry picking.”

“Probably he was detained at the orchard,” Miss Gordon replied. “Don’t worry about the check. It may come by mail tomorrow.”

The Brownies began to gather up paper plates and to pick up napkins that had blown from the serving table.

Since the start of the festival, the wind steadily had freshened. Dark clouds scudded across the sky.

“It looks a little like rain,” Miss Gordon observed rather anxiously. “I hope not. A storm tonight might seriously damage Mr. Hooper’s cherry harvest.”

“Several other orchards remain to be picked too,” Mr. McLean said to the Brownie leader. “On the whole, though, the fruit is at the cannery.”

Connie started to fold up some of the quilts. She wanted to put them away so that if rain began to fall, they would not be damaged.

“I don’t think any more people are coming anyhow,” she remarked.

Just as she spoke, an automobile turned down the street. As the Brownies watched, it pulled up at the churchyard.

To the surprise and delight of the girls, Pa Hooper leaped out of the car.

“Oh, he did come after all!” Connie exclaimed, starting toward him.

“And every piece of cherry pie, is gone,” Veve said in dismay. “We haven’t anything now to serve him.”

Pa Hooper, however, was not interested in cherry pie.

He was concerned with far more important and serious matters.

As the orchard owner strode across the festival grounds, the girls saw that he was deeply troubled about something.

“Hello, Mr. Hooper!” Connie greeted him. “We’re glad you were able to come after all.”

“Hi, there,” the orchard owner said, but he scarcely noticed the little girl. “Is Carl Wingate here?”

The question took Connie by surprise. She could not guess why Mr. Hooper would ask about his cousin.

“At his place, they told me he had come here,” Mr. Hooper explained, his gaze sweeping the group of people on the lawn.

“Mr. Wingate was here a few minutes ago,” Connie said. “Yes, there he is now. Over by the table, talking to Mr. McLean!”

Mr. Hooper walked directly to the two men.

“Carl, there’s trouble afoot now!” he said, addressing his cousin.

The owner of the Wingate orchard turned to face Mr. Hooper.

“Trouble?” he repeated. “What d’you mean?”

“It’s the Mexican pickers. They’re leaving!”

“Leaving?” Mr. Wingate demanded. “Nonsense! A bunch of ’em were here not three quarters of an hour ago.”

“And that’s what caused the trouble. You ordered them away.”

“So what? The Mexicans know they’re not allowed to run riot in town. They’re supposed to stay in their own camp.”

“That’s why they’re dissatisfied,” Mr. Hooper insisted. “They feel they have no social rights. For a long time they’ve been dissatisfied. Sending them away from the festival tonight was the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“The pickers can’t leave,” Mr. Wingate muttered. “There’s a good two hours work at my place yet. And your orchard!”

“They’re breaking camp now. A bad storm is rolling up too! Unless we can stop the pickers and get them to pick tonight, I’ll lose most of my cherries.”

Mr. McLean seized Carl Wingate’s arm. “Come on!” he urged. “We can’t let those pickers leave. We’ve got to get out there right away and stop them!”