TROUBLE IN THE STORE
“Caw! Caw! Caw!” came a hoarse cry, as the black bird fluttered up off
the log, carrying away Ted’s bright and glittering knife, for crows
like to take bright things, you know.
“Caw! Caw! Caw!” again sounded the cry.
Then Ted and Trouble noticed that it was not the crow that had the
knife that was doing the cawing. It was some other crow farther off
in the woods. For if the crow that had flown down and picked up Ted’s
knife from the log had opened its mouth to caw, it would have had to
drop the knife. A crow must open its beak to call, just as you have to
open your mouth to sing, or as a dog opens its mouth to bark.
“Drop my knife! Drop my knife, you funny black crow!” cried Ted.
“Frow suffin’ at him! Frow suffin’!” cried Trouble, so eager and
excited that he forgot to talk straight. “Frow suffin’!”
“I’ll throw something all right!” shouted Ted.
“Don’t frow my whistle,” begged Trouble.
Ted had been about to do this, forgetting that the stick he held in his
hand was the one on one end of which he had started the whistle for his
small brother.
“I’ll throw a stone!” cried the Curlytop boy.
Off in the woods sounded the caw of that other crow. And, just as Ted
threw a stone at the black bird that had picked up his knife, though
Ted did not hit the crow, the feathered thief with the knife in his
beak opened his mouth and sent out an answering:
“Caw! Caw! Caw!”
Of course as soon as it opened its mouth down fell the knife, and away
the crow flew.
“You made him drop it!” cried Trouble.
“I guess he had to drop it to caw,” said Ted, which was more like the
truth, for the stone he had thrown did not come anywhere near the crow.
“I hope I find my knife,” Teddy went on.
He ran toward the place where he had seen it fall from the crow’s beak,
and as the bird circled overhead, crying and cawing in answer to the
other, which the boys did not see, Ted and his brother searched amid
the leaves for the missing knife.
After poking about for some time they picked it up, and Ted looked at
it carefully to see if it might be damaged. But it was none the worse
from having been nearly carried off by the crow.
“What made him want it?” asked Trouble, as the whistle-making started
again.
“Oh, I guess maybe he wanted to give it to his little boy,” Ted
answered, with a laugh, as he carefully whittled away at the whistle.
“Has crows got little boys?” Trouble wanted to know.
“Yes, I guess so; and little girls, too,” explained Teddy.
“But how can a crow boy cut with a knife?” persisted William. “How can
he?”
“Well, I guess maybe he doesn’t, except in fairy stories,” said Ted.
“What makes crows caw?” was Trouble’s next question.
“That’s the way they talk.”
“Oh, does crows talk?” eagerly cried Trouble. He listened a moment.
Over the trees floated a cry of:
“Caw! Caw! Caw!”
“What’s him crow sayin’?” he demanded.
“Oh, I don’t know!” Ted had to confess. “You ask too many questions,
Trouble! I can’t answer half of ’em. Crows must talk among themselves
same’s dogs talk when they rub noses and wag their tails. Now there’s
your whistle. Blow on it and then you can’t ask so many questions.”
He shut his knife and put it in his pocket, while Trouble put the
blowing end of the whistle in his lips. It gave forth a shrill, clear
sound.
“’At’s a fine whistle!” Trouble said. “Thanks you, Ted.”
“All right, boysie! I’m glad you like it. That’s it--toot away!”
As Trouble blew harder on the whistle several birds in the trees seemed
to sing in answer. And again, over the trees, came the hoarse voices of
the crows.
“Caw! Caw! Caw-aw-aw!” they cried.
“Maybe they wants a whistle,” suggested Trouble.
“Maybe,” agreed Ted, with a laugh. “Well, I’m not going to make them
any. That was a bold fellow to come down and take my knife like that!”
And when Ted and Trouble reached the bungalow and told what had
happened, Janet said:
“Oh, Ted! Maybe that was Mr. Jenk’s tame crow.”
“What, the one that tried to fly away with my knife?”
“Yes, maybe that was Jim, the lame crow, and if you could have caught
him we’d get ten dollars.”
Teddy shook his head.
“That wasn’t Jim crow,” he said.
“How do you know?” asked Janet.
“’Cause he wasn’t lame,” answered her brother. “I watched him walk
along on the log ’fore he picked up my knife and he didn’t limp a bit.”
“Maybe it was Mr. Jenk’s lame, tame crow,” persisted Janet, “but maybe
he got well after he flew off to the woods, and maybe he’s here now.”
Ted shook his head in doubt.
“This is too far away for Mr. Jenk’s crow to come,” he said. “And he
couldn’t get well. He was lame from a broken leg and Mr. Jenk said Jim
would always be lame like he was ’cause one leg was shorter than the
other.”
“Oh,” murmured Janet. “Well, anyhow, I’m glad he didn’t take your
knife.”
“So’m I,” agreed Teddy.
There were now busy times at Mount Major; at least for Mr. Martin,
as he must watch over and tell the two men, Jack and Henry, as they
called themselves, about putting the groceries and merchandise away
on the shelves. In another day or two the lumbermen would arrive and
there would be more busy scenes in the woods where the Curlytops were
spending their vacation.
By the time the boxes and barrels of supplies had been unpacked and
placed on the shelves, some of the lumbermen arrived. There were men
who chopped down the great trees, other men who piled them on skids and
wagons and hauled them to the lake or river, where they were sent down
long slides, or chutes, then to be floated to the mill.
In parts of the woods too far from the water, the logs were carted to
the mill on wagons and piled up outside to wait for the sawmill to cut
them into lumber.
There was a special “gang” of men to operate the sawmill, and this was
the place Ted best liked to linger near. He was much interested in
machinery. Trouble was, too, and went with his brother each time Ted
started for the mill.
As Mr. Martin had said, some of the lumber workers brought their
families to the woods with them, and these men, women and children were
given homes in small cabins that were specially built for them.
In about a week after the Curlytops had arrived at the bungalow in the
woods, Mount Major was a very lively place. The store was opened and
doing business. Mr. Martin acted as manager of the store for a time,
and he had several clerks to wait on the customers.
“It’s funny to see a store in the woods like this,” said Janet to her
mother.
“Yes, but when men work they must eat, and to eat they have to buy
things,” answered Mrs. Martin with a smile. “Besides, your father makes
money by coming up here to start the store. And if we had no money we
could not have things to eat and things to wear.”
“I see,” said Janet, with a smile.
Most of that first week was spent in getting things to rights about the
camp and in setting up the store. Then, too, the sawmill had to be made
ready, so at first no trees were cut.
But at last the day came when lumbering was really started, and as a
special treat the Curlytops and Trouble were taken by their mother to
watch one of the big trees being felled.
“Shall we be safe here?” she asked one of the choppers.
“Oh, yes,” he answered. “The tree will fall over that way,” and he
waved his hand toward an open place in the woods.
“Mother, how can he tell just where the tree is going to fall?” asked
Janet.
“Oh, they have a way of knowing,” she answered.
“It all depends on the way we chop it,” explained the lumberman, who
overheard what Janet had asked. “It takes practice, but we can make a
tree fall anywhere we want it to.”
And this proved to be the case. Two men chopped at the big trunk, one
on either side. Their bright axes flashed in the sunshine and the white
chips flew about.
“We must come back here after the tree is cut, and pick up some of the
chips,” said Mrs. Martin to the children. “Chips are fine for putting
on the fire to make the tea-kettle boil quickly.”
“I wish I could chop a tree,” sighed Trouble.
“Oh, you mustn’t ever touch one of the men’s axes!” warned Mrs. Martin,
for she could read Trouble’s mind at times. “They are so sharp they
would cut you badly.”
“They’re shiny, too,” said Trouble. “I guess maybe a crow would like to
carry one off like they took your knife, wouldn’t they, Ted?” he asked.
“Ho! Ho! A crow would have a fine time trying to fly away with an axe!”
laughed Ted.
“Well, but if maybe six ten dozen crows--now--tried to take a axe they
could--couldn’t they, Mother?” asked the little fellow.
“Well, I don’t know,” was the answer Mrs. Martin thought it safest to
make.
Chop! Chop! Chop! went the sharp axes to the trunk of the tree. Soon
the top part began to quiver and sway.
“Look out! She’s going to fall!” cried one of the lumbermen.
“We’d better run back, children!” said Mrs. Martin.
“Stay where you are, lady! You’ll be all right,” advised the head
chopper.
Crash!
Down went the tree, and just as the lumberman had said, it fell in
exactly the spot picked out for it, and nowhere near the place where
Mrs. Martin stood with the Curlytops and Trouble.
“Hurray!” cried Teddy. “Good work!” He had often heard his father say
that.
“Glad you liked it,” laughed one of the men.
Then they began trimming from the tree the branches, so the log could
be taken to the mill, either being floated down the river or carted
on the wagon or skids. The skids formed a sort of long, low sled with
wooden runners, and in smooth places this could be pulled over the
ground, dragging logs where they were needed.
That night, after a pleasant day in the woods, during which the
Curlytops had much fun, Janet watched her mother laying aside some
rings and a breastpin, as Mrs. Martin was getting ready for bed.
“You didn’t find the little diamond locket I lost, did you, Mother?”
asked Janet wistfully.
“No, dear, I didn’t,” was the reply. “But don’t worry about it,” she
went on, as she saw the sad look on Janet’s face. “Perhaps we may find
it sometime, though when I didn’t come across it after we packed up to
come here, I began to lose hope.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” murmured Janet.
“Don’t worry,” said her mother kindly, and Janet went to bed to dream
that she had found the locket and that the diamond in it had grown as
large as an orange. When she awakened and found it only a dream, she
was very much disappointed.
However, the day that dawned was such a bright and pleasant one and
there was the prospect of so much fun in the woods that Janet could not
long be sad.
“Come on out and play!” called Ted.
“We have fun!” added Trouble.
“We’ll play camping out in the woods,” said Janet. “We’ll make believe
we’re the early settlers like the Pilgrims we read about in our school
books, Ted.”
“That’ll be fun,” he agreed.
“I not goin’ to take any pills!” objected Trouble, as he heard that
strange word. “I not sick and I not take pills!”
“You don’t have to take pills!” laughed Janet. “We were talking about
the Pilgrims.”
“Who is them?” Trouble wanted to know.
“Oh, they used to fight with the Indians,” said Ted.
“Den I be a Pigwim!” announced Trouble, which was as near as he could
say it. “Does Pigwims eat?” he wanted to know.
“Of course they do!” said Teddy. “We’ll go to the store and get daddy
to give us things to eat in the woods,” he added.
Mr. Martin was glad to have the children roam in the woods in play,
and he gave them some packages of crackers for their lunch. While he
was wrapping them up for Teddy and Janet, baby William wandered behind
the store counter. A lumberman entered as Mr. Martin finished giving
the Curlytops what they had asked for. Looking behind the counter the
lumberman gave a start and suddenly cried:
“There’s trouble here!”
“Yes, I know Trouble is here,” said Mr. Martin, thinking the man meant
the little boy. “Come out, Trouble!” he called.
“No, but I mean there’s a different kind of trouble!” exclaimed the
man. “I don’t mean your boy, though he may have been the cause of it.”
“The cause of what?” asked Mr. Martin, starting for the counter behind
which he had seen William wander.
“The cause of the molasses running all over,” was the reply. “The
spigot of the barrel is open and there’s a big puddle of molasses on
the floor. It’s growing bigger!
“Look out there, young man!” he quickly cried, taking a step forward.
“Look out, or you’ll sit in it. Oh, too late!” he gasped. “He’s gone
and done it! Right in the molasses he is! Right in the molasses!”