TO hear Miss Gordon say that the quilt was historically important made Veve very proud.

Instead of having a worthless coverlet, she now was the possessor of one that was the equal of any of the others obtained for the Brownie show. Best of all, it was her very own.

The truck was moving ahead again. Soon it came to the gate of the canning factory.

“Hi there, Bill Flint!” the gateman greeted the driver. “I see you have a full load. All those kids yours?”

“Wish they were,” laughed Bill.

The truck kept edging along closer and closer to the cannery.

At the unloading dock, all the Brownies piled out of the vehicle. An inspector came over to look at the lugs of cherries.

“These are plenty ripe,” he said. From one box he removed a cherry which had turned brown and split open.

“Too much rain,” replied Bill. “And Mr. Hooper can’t get enough pickers.”

“Well, tell him we’ll reject the fruit if it comes in too ripe,” the inspector said. “He’ll be wise to round up pickers and get the job done fast.”

“Try and find ’em,” Bill rejoined. “Carl Wingate has tied up the works by hanging onto his crew too long. The Mexicans were supposed to have been at Hooper’s place yesterday.”

“I know,” the inspector agreed. “Too bad. But I have to protect the cannery.”

The snatch of overheard conversation troubled the Brownies. They liked Pa Hooper and did not want him to lose any of his fruit.

“When we get back to the orchard, we must pick faster,” Connie whispered to Veve and Rosemary.

Both girls soberly agreed. However, they knew that the amount of cherries they could pick would not count up very fast. If Mr. Hooper were to save his crop, he needed the Mexican pickers.

“Come along, girls,” said Miss Gordon, guiding them into the cannery.

The truck would be unloaded quickly. Bill had told the Brownie leader that he would return to the orchard for another load. He expected to pick up the Brownies on the second trip, which would be in about two hours.

“We’ll be able to see the factory and have time to spare,” declared Miss Gordon.

The Brownies watched workmen unload the cherries and place them on a conveyor which took them to a large room with mechanical stemmers.

A single stemming machine had a long cylinder made up of a series of short rubber rollers.

As the rollers turned, they caught and pulled away stems and leaves. The cherries themselves were not crushed or bruised.

“Say, that’s neat!” approved Eileen.

In the next canning operation, the fruit was thoroughly washed. Then it moved on to a grading machine.

By means of a screen, the cherries were sorted into groups of five different sizes.

The Brownies were even more interested in the machine which removed the pits from all the cherries. They stood for a long while watching the fruit fall into tiny cups. Once there, the stones were removed by cross-shaped plungers.

A man who showed the girls over the plant, told them that to keep the fruit from spoiling it was necessary to sterilize it at 212 degrees for twelve to twenty-five minutes.

“Cherries receive a long exhaust too,” he declared. “At least ten minutes.”

“What’s an exhaust?” inquired Jane, puzzled.

The guide explained that it was a process which eliminated air from the can.

He showed them next the room where the cans were stacked after sterilization had been completed. Sprays of water passed over them to cool the tin.

“Is that so they’ll be easier to handle?” Connie questioned.

“Oh, no,” explained the guide. “If the cans were not cooled quickly, the contents would continue to cook for several minutes. Then the cherries would darken.”

After the cans were sealed, each one was carefully tested.

“Poorly sealed ones give off bubbles of air,” the guide told the Brownies. “Those are discarded.”

Imperfectly sealed cans or “leakers” made a hollow sound when tapped with a short steel rod, the man further explained. A properly sealed one gave off a dull, flat sound.

The Brownies saw how bright colored labels were pasted on the cans which then were ready for packing. That ended the tour.

“It took us less than an hour,” Miss Gordon declared when the girls came out into the bright sun again.

“Then we have another hour to wait for Bill Flint,” said Connie.

She looked up and down the road. Other trucks were pulling up to the cannery every few minutes. But Bill’s truck was nowhere to be seen.

The sun was uncomfortably warm. Miss Gordon suggested that they cross the roadway and wait under the shade of a large oak.

Once there, however, Veve had an even better idea. She had noticed that the river ran close by. A trail led from the road to a sandy beach where several persons were bathing.

“Let’s go down to the beach!” she proposed.

Miss Gordon looked again at her watch. “We have time enough, I guess,” she decided. “Bill isn’t in sight yet and he will have to unload his truck after he reaches the cannery.”

The Brownies trooped down to the beach. Several children were there, wading in the shallow water.

“Oh, Miss Gordon, may we go in too?” demanded Veve.

The Brownie leader hesitated. Before she could say ‘no’ all the girls began to tease to go into the water.

“It’s so hot!” Eileen declared. “I’m simply roasting.”

“We haven’t long—”

“It will only take a jiffy,” said Veve, starting to strip off her shoes and stockings. “Oh, that water will feel good!”

Miss Gordon had to give in. All the Brownies except Rosemary decided to go wading. They rolled up their jeans and splashed into the water.

The beach was not a very nice one. On the bottom were many sticks and stones. Veve stepped on a jagged rock and hurt her toe. However, she only laughed. She knew if she made a fuss, Miss Gordon would make all the girls come out of the water.

“Stop splashing!” Connie scolded her friend. “You’re getting my jeans all wet.”

“Don’t forget, we’re supposed to pick cherries when we get back to the orchard,” added Sunny. “We can’t do it if our clothes are soaked.”

Veve moved farther away from the Brownies toward the group of strange children. Among the boys and girls, she saw someone she knew. It was Juan, the little Mexican boy.

“Hello!” she called.

“Hello, yourself,” he returned the greeting.

A moment later Juan walked over to the group of Brownies, grinning from ear to ear.

“Why aren’t you picking cherries?” Veve asked him.

The little Mexican boy shot the question right back.

“Why aren’t you?”

“The Brownies all came to the factory to see how cherries are canned,” Veve explained. “We’re waiting now for Bill Flint to return for us.”

“Did you visit the factory?” Eileen asked the boy politely.

She could not help thinking that he was dressed oddly, even to go wading in the river. The boy wore a straw hat. His shirt was torn and two buttons were off. A patch had pulled loose from his trousers, showing an area of bare leg.

“I have never been inside the cannery,” Juan replied. “I did not pick cherries today because I did not feel like it.”

“You played hookey, didn’t you?” Jane caught him up. “Shame! When cherry pickers are so badly needed too.”

“If the orchard owners want pickers they should pay us more,” said Juan with a shrug. “And they should treat us better.”

The Brownies could think of no answer to that remark. They knew, of course, that Carl Wingate had struck the Mexican boy with a stick. Whether or not Juan had first caused the orchard owner trouble, they had never learned.

Just then a man came down the trail toward the beach.

At first, he merely stood and watched the children as they waded in the shallow water. But after awhile he noticed Juan.

“Hey, you!” he called to the little Mexican boy.

Juan acted as if he had not heard.

The man came quickly to the water’s edge. He was scowling and appeared very displeased.

“Come here!” he called again to Juan.

This time the boy could not pretend that he had not heard. Very slowly he waded in toward the man.

“Que, Senor?” he mumbled, acting as if he neither spoke nor understood English.

“You heard me!” the man said angrily. “What do you mean by going in wading at this beach?”

Juan merely shrugged.

“You know you have no right here. I won’t have Mexicans on my property! Now go, and don’t let me catch you sneaking back.”

Juan waded out and picked up his straw sandals.

“Get a move on!” the man urged.

Shocked by the man’s angry attack, the Brownies quickly followed the Mexican boy from the water.

“No, I didn’t mean you girls,” he said in a quieter voice. “You may stay if you like.”

“But you just now told Juan to leave—” Veve began in bewilderment.

“He’s a Mexican.”

Juan drew himself up proudly. “Si, Senor, I am a Mexican and proud of it,” he announced. “I have as much right here as anyone else.”

“We’ll see about that!” said the land owner, starting toward him. “You’ll leave or I’ll turn you over to the sheriff.”

Juan grabbed his straw sandals and hobbled off over the sharp pebbles.

But as he disappeared among the trees, he hurled a threat over his shoulder.

“You’ll be sorry,” he warned. “So will all the orchard people! Wait and see!”