“That makes forty for the morning market.”

Daisy set her wire basket by the tire and marked the tally board hanging from the side mirror.

“Forty crates at sixteen dollars a crate,” Daisy said.

“Six hundred and forty dollars,” I said.

Carl slid his hands into his pockets and looked down the row where the late sun was dropping behind the tree line.

“We’ll sell half at six thirty tomorrow at the Route 9 stand,” Carl said.

“Your bookkeeping cut is forty dollars.”