A QUEER SPRING SUIT
"Don't stop to talk unless you want to get the chills from that
spring," urged the little country woman in the big sunbonnet, "but just
chase across that field as fast as you can. If we are not on the road
when you get there, keep right on running. It's the only thing. Then
I'll see what I can do for you in the line of clothes. Sam hasn't got
much, but they're clean."
Nat stood shivering. The mud had relieved him of both shoes.
"Run along," ordered the woman, "I tell you I know all about the kind
of chills that come from that spring water. Why, we don't even eat the
watercress out of it this summer, so many folks that did eat it were
taken down. My son Sam had a spell. The doctor stuck to it it was
swimmin' but I knowed better; it was eatin' that poison watercress."
By this time Nat had followed directions and was going across the
fields as fast as his uncomfortable legs would carry him. Tavia was
running also; she felt it was her duty to stick by Nat, and get to the
road with him, in case he should need any help.
Dorothy could not hide her dismay. Nat might get cold, he certainly
had spoiled some good clothes, and the automobile ride would not be as
pleasant now. How could it be with such a soaked boy at the wheel?
And he was sure to stick to his post.
"Isn't it awful!" Dorothy remarked to Ned, as they hurried along after
Nat and Tavia, while the country woman jogged on ahead of them.
"Nothing of the sort," he contradicted her. "It will add to his
general knowledge, and what an experience it will be when it is handed
out to the fellows! Nat frequently has a way of making narrow escapes.
Chances are, some subterranean monster held him down in that spring.
Oh, that accident will just be pie for Nat," and his brother laughed at
the possible story Nat would concoct about his spring bath.
Breaking through the clump of bushes that divided the field from the
road Nat and Tavia could be seen racing up and down like a pair in
"training."
"That's right," called the woman, "just cut across there to that house.
I'll be there almost as soon as you."
And in truth the farm woman was "no slouch," as Ned expressed it, for
she tramped along at such an even pace that Dorothy found it difficult
to keep up with her on the rough roads.
The farm house was of the typical old-fashioned kind; long and narrow,
like a train of cars side-tracked, Ned thought. Vines that had become
tired creeping clung tenaciously to window sills and broken porch
rails, while clumsy old apple trees leaned lazily toward the stone
house, although they were expected to keep their place, and outline a
walk to the garden.
"Come right in the kitchen," invited the little woman. "I'll go
upstairs and get the clothes, and then the young man can wash up a bit.
Sam always keeps plenty of clean water in his room in summer
time--ain't so pertic'lar about it in winter."
Nat hesitated on the door sill. Although the place presented that
crowded and almost untidy scene, so common to back doors in the
country, the room within was clean and orderly, and Nat had no idea of
carrying his mud through the apartment.
Tavia, seeing his predicament, promptly found the broom and began such
a vigorous scraping of the muddy clothes that Nat backed down to a
bench and fell over it.
"There," exclaimed Tavia, "no more will come off, I'm sure."
"So am I," gasped Nat. "I wonder--well, never mind, you brushed me all
right. If ever you want work just let me know."
The woman, who had introduced herself as Mrs. Hardy, was at the door
now, and ordered Nat to come in at once.
"For clothes," she began, "I left out Sam's brand new pair of overalls.
They hain't never been on him, and I thought they'd be better than
anything else for summer. Then there's a clean soft shirt, and you
won't need no coat, as it's a sight too warm to-day for coats. Them
sneak shoes Sam only bought Saturday night. He likes to wear them to
picnics, and there's to be one to-morrow evenin'."
Nat seemed unable to thank the woman. He really felt so miserable,
physically, and so confused mentally, that his usual ready wit forsook
him. But Dorothy could have hugged that dear little woman who was so
kind and thoughtful. Ned was out in the motor car, so Dorothy was the
one in "authority."
"You are so kind," she faltered to Mrs. Hardy, as Nat's muddy heels
lost themselves from view up the box stairs. "I'm sure we cannot thank
you enough."
"Tut, tut," interrupted the woman, busying herself at once about the
little cook stove. "If the same thing happened to my Sam I know you'd
do as much for him. He'll be in to dinner. Maybe you'll see him. I
am proud of Sam. He's all I've got, of course, that makes some
difference."
Ned now brought the machine up to the front of the house. He blew the
horn to attract attention and Tavia ran out.
"Of all the luck," he stammered, trying to talk and laugh at the same
time, "every scrap of our lunch is gone. Dogs, chickens, and maybe a
boy or two took it. At any rate, they did not leave as much as the
basket."
"Oh," gasped Tavia. "Isn't that mean!"
"Rather," answered the boy. "But perhaps we can get some crackers and
milk here. I feel that the pangs of hunger will do something desperate
presently. Nat, I suppose, will get a warm drink, and no doubt
something to make him strong--homemade bread is the usual, I think.
But I may starve," and he looked truly mournful--dinner hour was
"flush" as he expressed it, meaning that the time had come to eat, as
both hour and minute hand were hugging twelve, whistles blowing and a
distant bell sounding, all of which indicated meal time was "flush."
"What's the matter?" asked Dorothy, coming around the house.
"The commissary department has been looted," said Ned. "In other
words, our grub is gone."
"Gone!" echoed Dorothy, incredulously.
"The very gonest gone you ever saw. Not so much as a toothpick left."
"What shall we do," sighed the girl, who had put up such a tempting
lunch, and had even partly spread it out on the paper-cloth in that
"safe" place under the tree.
"Victuals gone?" asked Mrs. Hardy, from the side window. "I might have
told you as much, only for hurryin' to get them wet clothes off that
boy. Why, our hounds would steal the eggs from the nests, worst
thieves I ever saw. Well, never mind. When I get Sam back to the
hayfield I'll do what I can for you. But he has to be quick, for it's
all cut and there's no telling when a thunder storm 'll come up."
"Oh, we wouldn't think of troubling you so much," demurred Dorothy.
"Is there any store around?" asked Ned, significantly.
"One a mile off that has not a morsel fit to eat in it. I'd as soon
swallow poison as eat anything out of that place. Here, young girl (to
Tavia), you run down to the dairy there, the door is unlocked, and
bring up a pail of milk that's on the bench under the window. I'll
give you a couple of glasses and you can help yourselves until Sam gets
done."
Tavia hurried off, willing enough to fetch the milk, and before she
reached the door on her return trip--there was Nat!
Nobody dared to laugh. What might Mrs. Hardy think?
But Nat in overalls! And a dark blue shirt! And the yellow sneaks!
"Splendid," declared Dorothy, feeling the absolute necessity of saying
something grateful.
"I feel like a new man," said Nat.
"Bet you do now," spoke Mrs. Hardy, looking him over approvingly.
"Nothing like clean clothes, and them is becoming."
Nat went near her so he could carry on conversation without delaying
the dinner preparations.
"That spring suit," he said laughing, "I'll just throw down on the
rubbish heap. The clothes are so covered with mud, I am sure they
never could be cleaned, and if Sam will have time to get in town before
the picnic perhaps he can sell me these things. Or, if not, I'll buy
whatever he wants and send them out."
"Well, he won't need the overalls till next week," answered the mother.
"Then I can buy them?" asked Nat.
"And the shoes--"
"I'll have a pair sent out directly I reach town. I'll see that they
come special so there will be no mistake."
"And the shirt--you are welcome to that."
"Now then," said Nat, "here's five dollars, whatever will be over the
price of the clothes I am sure I owe you--"
"Five dollars!" exclaimed the woman with genuine surprise. "Why, bless
you boy, that would buy my Sam a full, whole winter suit."
"Get him one, then," insisted Nat. "I would be glad to help him, as he
certainly has helped me greatly. Just surprise him with a new suit for
the picnic. We'll be off as soon as I get my share of that milk, if
they have left me any, then he will know nothing of the accident. You
can give him a complete surprise," seeing the look of delight on the
poor woman's face.
"But you dasen't drink none of that cold milk," she protested. "Step
right over here to a cup of tea, it's just fresh. But I don't feel I
should take all that money."
"Oh, just to give Sam a little surprise," argued Nat, "and indeed, I
owe it to you, for I might have taken an awful cold," and he drank down
his "piping" hot tea.
"Well, Sam will be happy," admitted the mother fondly, "and if you can
afford it--"
"Of course I can. There, they have actually stopped drinking. We are
so much obliged for the invitation to take dinner, Mrs. Hardy, but we
couldn't really stay," finished Nat.
"No," said Dorothy, coming in at that moment, "it is very kind of you
to ask us, Mrs. Hardy, but my cousin says we must go on. Here is
something for the milk--"
"No more money!" declared the woman. "I've taken more now than the
Bible would say was due me."
"Oh, just this change," urged Dorothy.
"Not a penny! Not one cent!" Mrs. Hardy insisted, but as Dorothy
stepped out to join the others, who by this time were getting into the
car, she managed to find a place to hide the coins--where Mrs. Hardy
would find them later on.
"I'm to the bat," said Ned, as Nat took up his place in front.
"Not much," shouted Nat. "I haven't been put out yet, and, in overalls
and blue shirt, Nat, the good-looking and always well-dressed boy, let
loose the Fire-Bird for another fly through the country."