and there. I wandered on and on, thinking every minute I should come to
a patch of ripe berries where I could fill my pail in a few minutes. It
wasn’t much fun blackberrying all by myself. I scratched my hands and
face and tore my dress on the briars and wished many times that I was
back home, but I kept on picking until my pail was full.
“I did not realize how far I had gone nor how long I had been out until I
noticed that the sun was going down. Then I started to hurry home as fast
as I could. But I was tired and my bucket grew heavier with every step,
so I often sat down to rest. I rested a long time under a chestnut tree,
and then after I had walked miles, it seemed to me, I found myself back
under this same tree. I knew it was the same tree because Charlie had cut
my initials on it the summer before. I had been going around in a circle!
I started out again. I looked to the right and to the left and straight
ahead, but I couldn’t find the path.
“I was lost—lost in that great blackberry patch over a mile from home.
Night was coming on, and no one knew where I had gone. I wondered where
I should sleep if no one found me before it got dark, and what I should
eat. Of course I could climb a tree, but I might go to sleep and fall out
of it. I shouldn’t starve, for I could eat blackberries, but the very
thought of eating any more blackberries made me feel sick.
“I hurried this way and that, trying to find my way out and growing more
frightened every minute.
“Then suddenly I heard some one calling to me.
“‘Sa—rah! Sa—rah!’ I heard as plain as plain could be, and I answered
them. I screamed at the top of my voice, ‘Here I am! Here I am!’ But the
voices—there seemed to be a great many of them—only kept on saying over
and over again, ‘Sa—rah! Sa—rah!’
“I ran, stumbling and falling through the bushes, still holding to my
precious pail of berries, but I didn’t seem to get any nearer to the
folks who were calling me. All the neighbors must be out helping hunt for
me, I thought to myself. That was queer, too, for it wasn’t really dark
and Mother was used to having me play for hours at a time down by the
run or on the hill under the oak trees.
“Presently I came to an open space. There was a group of trees at the far
edge, and there under those trees, to my great surprise, stood Mother’s
little Jersey cow. I ran toward her, and when she saw me she gave a weak
‘moo.’ But when she tried to move I saw that she was caught fast by the
horns in a wild grapevine that grew around the tree. I tried to free her,
but I couldn’t. The wild grapevine is very tough and strong, and Jersey
was securely fastened by it. I petted her and talked to her and forgot to
be afraid any more. Then I happened to think that if she had been there
very long she must be thirsty. She was not giving any milk and had been
turned out to graze in the pasture field that joined the berry patch and
had probably come through a bad place in the fence. I remembered having
passed a spring a little way back, and I emptied my berries carefully in
a pile on the ground and ran back and filled my bucket with water. But I
couldn’t reach Jersey’s mouth, and though she tried frantically to get
at the water she couldn’t get her head down to it. I dragged two pieces
of old log over and built up a platform. Then I climbed up on it with my
bucket of water, and my, how glad Jersey was to get that cool drink!
“Then I sat down on a log to wait for some one to come. To keep from
getting lonely I began to say over my memory verses for the next Sunday.
I was committing the Twenty-third Psalm and I had just reached the line
beginning, ‘He restoreth my soul,’ when I heard them calling again.
“‘Sa—rah! Sa—rah!’ they said just as before. I jumped up and cried out as
loud as I could, ‘Here I am! Here I am!’ I was determined to make them
hear me this time, and I said it over and over until I was hoarse, and
the more I answered the louder the voices seemed to call.
“Then to my joy came a voice I knew. ‘Where are you and what are you
doing here?’ it said, and crashing through the bushes came my big brother
Stanley. I rushed crying into his arms, and the funny part was that
Stanley did not know I was lost. He was on his way home from work on the
upper place and had come down to see if the berries were ripe so he could
tell Mother. He had heard me calling and had come to find me.
[Illustration: _How glad Jersey was to get that cool drink!_]
“With his pocket knife he cut the vines that held Jersey, and we drove
her slowly back to the pasture field after he had helped me pick up the
berries.
“When Stanley and I got home Mother was just starting Charlie out to look
for me. She was pleased to get the berries and glad I had found Jersey.
Father said Jersey might have starved before he would have missed her,
but Mother made a rule that I was never again to go farther away than the
oak trees or the run without asking her.
“‘Who was calling me?’ I asked. ‘Some one was calling me. They still are.
Listen!’ and there it was again.
“‘Sa—rah! Sa—rah!’
“They all looked puzzled. Then Mother laughed.
“‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I know what she means. Why, that isn’t anyone calling
you, dear. That’s the locusts and they say, ‘Pha—raoh! Pha—raoh!’ But it
does sound like ‘Sa—rah,’ doesn’t it? And I am very glad you thought they
said ‘Sa—rah’ and answered them or Stanley wouldn’t have found you and
you might have been up in the berry patch all night.’
“There, that was a long story, wasn’t it? Hurry to bed now, for you know,
“Early to bed and early to rise,
Makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.”
ONE FOURTH OF JULY
Grandma had promised the children a Fourth of July story, and Bobby and
Alice and Pink drew up their stools and waited eagerly for her to begin.
“Father was going to take us to Clayville to the Fourth of July
celebration,” Grandma began. “We were all going except Mother and Nanny
Dodds, who was helping us over hay harvest. I had been to Clayville once
before.
“‘But that time it was on just a common everyday day,’ as I told Nanny.
‘This will be different.’
“We were to start early—early in the morning—for Clayville was twelve
miles away and we did not want to miss a single thing.
“First there would be a parade with two brass bands, then ‘speaking’
on the courthouse steps, and after that an ox roast. In the afternoon
there were to be horse races and games. Father promised that we should
have supper at the hotel and stay for the fireworks in the evening. I
had never seen even a firecracker, and I looked forward to seeing the
skyrockets most of all.
“I was to wear a new light calico dress with a little blue flower in it
and a blue sash and my ruffled white sunbonnet that was kept for Sundays.
I talked so much about going that Mother and my sisters and every one
else except Nanny grew dreadfully tired listening to me and begged me to
talk of something else.
“Nanny was twenty and bashful and as homely as could be, but I loved her
very much. When she made cookies she put a raisin in the center of some
of them, and others she sprinkled with sugar. And she made gingerbread
men with currant eyes and baked saucer pies and let me scrape the cake
bowl. She sewed for my doll and bound up my hurt fingers tenderly and
told the nicest stories. There was no end to the things Nanny did for me,
but I liked the stories best of all.
“The day before the Fourth, when I sat on the edge of the kitchen table
watching Nanny beat eggs for the sponge cake and talking about what I
should see the next day, Nanny said in a wistful voice, ‘I’ve never been
to Clayville. I always thought I’d like to go, but I never had a chance.’
[Illustration: _“I’ve never been to Clayville,” said Nanny, wistfully_]
“This set me thinking. Soon I slid off the table and went in search of
Mother. I found her at the spring-house churning.
“‘Mother,’ I said, ‘let’s take Nanny with us tomorrow.’
“‘I’m afraid there isn’t room,’ Mother answered regretfully. ‘There are
already five of you, and the surrey is old and not strong.’
“‘Nanny doesn’t weigh much,’ I argued.
“‘I know, dear, but Father is afraid to load the surrey any heavier for
fear you’d break down and not get to town at all. I have told Nanny she
may go home to see her mother tomorrow.’
“All the rest of the morning I sat under the apple tree in the side yard,
thinking. Once when Charlie came through the yard with a jug to fill with
water for the men in the hayfield I called him over. Maybe he might offer
to let Nanny go in his place. To be sure, I hadn’t much hope of this, but
still it was worth trying.
“‘Charlie,’ I said, ‘I think Nanny would like to go to the Fourth of July
celebration.’
“‘Sure, who wouldn’t?’ he replied easily. ‘I want to go myself,’ and he
went on to the well.
“I tried sister Belle next. I found her picking chickens in the orchard
and offered to help. Then presently I suggested to her that she could
go to Clayville with the Strangs’, since their surrey would not be
crowded as ours would, and then Nanny could go with us. She only laughed
scornfully and made me finish picking the chicken I had started.
“I went sadly back to the apple tree.
“‘Nanny wants to go,’ I thought to myself, ‘and I want to go, too, but if
I stay at home Nanny could go in my place. It would be a sacrifice,’ I
sighed deeply. ‘Preacher Hill says a sacrifice is giving up something you
want yourself. I want to go more than I ever wanted anything, but I have
lots of things Nanny doesn’t have. I have curly hair and Nanny’s hair
is straight. I can read and Nanny can’t. I’ve seen the train and had my
dinner at a hotel. I’ve traveled and Nanny’s never been farther from home
than Mt. Zion Church.’
“That night after I had said my prayers I put my arms around my Mother’s
neck and whispered, ‘Mother, I want Nanny to go in my place tomorrow.’
“‘Why, dear!’ Mother started to protest. But after looking earnestly into
my face she said, ‘Do you really want to stay at home and let Nanny go in
your place? You must be very, very sure, you know.’
“‘I’m sure, Mother,’ I declared solemnly. ‘Yes, I’m sure I want her to
go.’
“‘Well, sleep on it, and if you feel the same in the morning you shall
stay with Mother and Nanny may go.’
“I wakened at daylight to find Mother standing beside my bed.
“‘Are you awake, Sarah?’ she asked. ‘They are all up but you.’
“I sat up in bed dazed. I could hear the girls rushing around in their
room. From the kitchen came the rattle of dishes and out in the barn the
boys were whistling. Suddenly I remembered. It was the Fourth of July!
“‘I haven’t changed my mind, Mother,’ I said yawning sleepily.
“Mother bent down and kissed me before going to tell Nanny. At first
Nanny would not hear of it and left off getting breakfast to come and
tell me so. I pretended to be too sleepy to talk, so Nanny, urged by
Mother, finally went away to get ready, and Mother went down to finish
getting the breakfast.
“But I wasn’t a bit sleepy a little later when I jumped out of bed to
watch them start.
“Father and Aggie sat on the front seat of the surrey, and Belle, Nanny,
and Charlie on the back seat, while Joe, Stanley, and Truman rode
horseback. They all looked very fine and grand to me dressed in their
best clothes, and I choked back a sob as they drove down the road and out
of sight.
“All morning I helped Mother. I did lots of things the girls wouldn’t
let me do when they were doing the work. I dried the dishes and fed the
chickens and dusted the sitting room and scrubbed the walks.
“Then Mother and I had our lunch out under the apple tree in the side
yard—some of everything the girls had put in their lunch basket—fried
chicken and sponge cake and green-apple pie. My, but it tasted good! In
the afternoon Mother made my doll a new dress, and we went together to
hunt the little turkeys and get the cows.
“It was awfully late when the folks got back, but I sat up in bed to see
them. Every one of them had brought me something. Spread out on the bed
were a flag and a bag of peanuts, a pewter tea set from Father, a sticky
popcorn ball, and a sack of peppermint lozenges, but the nicest of all
was when Nanny gave me a hug and whispered, ‘I had the grandest time of
my life, Sarah, and I reckon it’ll take me a month to tell you about all
the things I saw.’
“Now, let me think! What in the world will I tell you about tomorrow
night? Oh, I know, but I won’t tell.”
THE BEE TREE
There had been honey for supper, and afterward, before the cozy fire in
her room, Grandma was telling Bobby and Alice and Pink about how the bees
live in little wooden houses called hives and make the honey from a fluid
taken from the heart of the flowers.
“But I knew of some bees once that did not live in a hive but in a hollow
tree.” Grandma reached for her work basket and drew out her knitting.
“While I put the thumb in Bobby’s mitten I’ll tell you about those bees.”
“When I was a little girl,” she began, “not many people kept bees and we
could not buy honey at the store, so honey was considered a great treat.
The first beehive I ever saw belonged to Mr. Brierly. The Brierly’s lived
on the next farm to us, but between them and us, in a little house on
Mr. Brierly’s place, lived a family named Henlen. They were very lazy
and hunted and fished and worked just enough to get what money they must
have. Mr. Brierly had given them a swarm of bees and helped them make a
hive for it, and the Brierlys and the Henlens were the only people in our
neighborhood who kept bees.
[Illustration: _Early in the summer one of Mr. Brierly’s hives swarmed_]
“Then early in the summer one of Mr. Brierly’s hives swarmed. That is,
a swarm of bees left the old hive and wanted to set up in a hive of its
own. Usually when a young swarm left the old hive Mr. Brierly gave them
a new hive and they settled down contentedly and went to making honey.
But this swarm flew away and lighted in a hollow tree on the edge of our
woods.
“Mr. Brierly did not find them for several days. Then he told Father he
would just leave them where they were, if Father did not care, and when
he took the honey he would divide with us. Father told him he was welcome
to leave the bees as long as he wanted to and to keep the honey. But Mr.
Brierly said Father must take half of the honey or he would not leave the
bees. So Father agreed and Mr. Brierly left the bees.
“Every morning when Charlie and I took the cows to pasture we would skip
across the field to take a long look at the bee tree. We would watch
the bees as they flew in and out the hole in the side of the tree and
wondered how much honey they had made and talked about how good it would
taste on hot biscuits.
“So all summer the bees worked away, and one day in the fall Mr. Brierly
sent Father word that he would be over that week to take the honey. A
few mornings later when I came in sight of the bee tree I stopped in
amazement. The bee tree was gone! Instead of standing straight and tall
like a soldier on guard, it lay flat on the ground. Chips of wood were
scattered all around. The bee tree had been cut down.
“I started for home as fast as I could go to tell Father. He wasn’t at
the barn, and I went to the house. Back of the house, under a sugar tree,
the girls were washing and Charlie was carrying water for them. As I came
up Aggie was scolding because one of the washtubs was missing. When I
told them about the bee tree they were as excited as I was. Charlie ran
to the wheat field where Father was ploughing to tell him, and we girls
went in to find Mother.
“Belle declared that whoever stole the honey must have taken the tub to
carry it away in. And since the honey was on our land and we knew it was
ready to take away and the tub was ours, it would look to Mr. Brierly as
if we had had something to do with it. Aggie laughed at her and said,
‘The very idea of anyone thinking we would steal!’ But Mother looked
serious.
“Father came right to the house, got on a horse, and rode over to Mr.
Brierly’s. Mr. Brierly came back with him, and they examined the fallen
bee tree carefully. It had been chopped down. Mr. Brierly said he
thought we would have heard the blows down at the house. Father replied
coldly that we had heard nothing and knew nothing about it until I had
taken the cows to pasture, and wouldn’t have known then if I had not run
across to look at the bees. He told him about our tub being gone, too.
Aggie said it wasn’t at all necessary to tell that, but Belle said Father
was too honest to keep anything back.
“Father imagined that Mr. Brierly thought we knew something about the
disappearance of the honey. Of course Father resented this, so the
Brierlys and we ceased to be friendly. Mrs. Brierly and Mother had always
helped each other to quilt and make apple butter and had exchanged
recipes and loaned patterns back and forth, but all this stopped now.
“School started, and Tom and Annie Brierly did not wait for Charlie and
me as they had always done. If they had not gone to school before we came
along, they waited until we had passed by before they started.
“Charlie and I worried a great deal about the coldness between the two
families and the unhappiness it was causing. We were always making plans
to discover who took the honey and so clear things up.
“One day when Charlie was eating his dinner at school he noticed that
Flora May Henlen had something on her bread that looked like honey. He
told me to watch her, and the next day at noon I took my dinner and sat
down near Flora May to eat it. Sure enough, it was honey she had on her
bread. But then I remembered that they had bees and she had a right to
have honey. Still I watched Flora May for several days, and she always
had honey on her bread.
“‘Did your bees make lots of honey this year, Flora May?’ I asked her one
day.
“‘Oh, yes,’ she answered, ‘every few days the boys bring in a pan of
honey.’
“That evening Charlie made an excuse to stop a while with one of the
Henlen boys, and in the orchard back of the house he saw their bee hive
lying on the ground among some rubbish and rotting leaves.
“We told our discovery at home, and my brother Truman said the Henlens
had had no bees at all for months. They had been starved or frozen out
the winter before.
“The next morning Father stopped Asa and Longford Henlen as they were
passing our house on the way home from mill and told them he knew they
had taken the honey. At first they denied all knowledge of the honey, but
when they found that in some way Father had found out about it they were
scared and admitted that they had chopped down the tree and, finding more
honey than they had expected, had taken our tub to carry it away in.
“Mr. Brierly and Father decided that if the boys would work out the pay
for the honey and promise not to steal any more they would not tell
anyone.
“Mr. Brierly apologized to Father, and Mrs. Brierly and Mother kissed the
next time they met, and Tom and Annie began waiting for Charlie and me
again, so that everything was all right once more.
“Get the apples, Bobby, please, and tomorrow night, if you say your
prayers and go right to sleep tonight, I’ll tell you about—well, it’s an
awfully good story I have for tomorrow night.”
BRAIN AGAINST BRAWN
Bobby was feeling his muscle and telling his sisters how strong he wanted
to be, and Grandma, hearing him, said, “Of course it’s nice to be strong,
Bobby, but strength won’t get anyone very far unless it is combined with
brains. I knew a delicate looking boy once who got ahead of half a dozen
big strong fellows, not because he was strong, but because he had brains
and used them.
“It was long, long ago—the winter my brother Truman taught our home
school. Mother didn’t want Truman to take the school, for, though he was
eighteen years old, he was a slender, little fellow and his blue eyes and
light hair made him look even younger than he really was. But Father said
for him to go ahead and see what he could do.
“There were several bad boys in school. The year before they had run the
teacher out before the term was half over, and we had no more school that
winter. When they heard that Truman was going to teach, they made all
sorts of boasts about what they meant to do.
“Truman got along all right the first few weeks until the older boys, who
had been working at a sawmill, started in. Nearly all of these boys were
bigger than Truman, and Bud McGill, the leader, was a year older. He had
broken up several schools and bragged that he would run Truman out in
short order.
“From the day he started he did everything he could to make trouble.
Because he had started to school late in the term he did not get the seat
he wanted. One morning he came early and took this seat and refused to
give it up when Truman asked him to. Truman couldn’t force him to give
it up, because Bud was so much larger and stronger. All day long Bud sat
there in the corner seat talking and laughing and throwing paper wads at
girls—disturbing all the rest of us so we could not study. At dismissing
time Truman told him to take his books with him and not come back to
school until he could behave himself, but Bud walked out as bold as you
please without a single book.
“I don’t know just how it would have come out if Bud’s father had not
heard about the trouble. But he did, and he told Bud he would have to
give up the seat unless he got the teacher’s permission to keep it.
“Bud said he’d get Truman’s permission all right.
“The next morning I went to school early with Truman because Charlie was
sick and couldn’t go. As soon as we came in sight of the schoolhouse and
saw a thick column of smoke rising from the chimney we knew something had
happened, for Truman always built the fire himself.
“When we got within hearing distance, Bud McGill opened the door a tiny
bit and called out to Truman, ‘Have I your say-so to keep the seat in the
corner?’
“‘No, you haven’t,’ Truman said shortly, and Bud slammed the door in his
face and bolted it. Bud’s plan was to keep Truman out of the schoolhouse
until he agreed to Bud’s taking the seat he wanted. Then Truman could
come in and take up books as usual, but if he did this he would be
admitting that Bud was the real authority in the school and the other
pupils would cease to respect him.
“As the children came to school Bud opened the door and let them in. They
offered to let me in, too, but I wouldn’t go. Truman wanted me to go
back home, but I wouldn’t do that either. Several of the boys stopped to
talk to Truman and offered to help him. Bud’s crowd saw the boys talking
to Truman and thought they were going to combine and try to enter the
schoolhouse by force. Bud dared them to come ahead. He went so far as to
say that if the teacher got in he would do whatever he said. But Truman
urged the boys who were eager to help him to go on in and not make any
trouble. He said it was his problem and he would have to settle it alone
as best he could. So they went in, and Truman and I were left alone.
“Truman brought some kindling from the coal house and built a fire, and
we stood around it to keep warm.
“‘I’ve got to get ahead of them some way,’ Truman said, as much to
himself as to me. ‘I’ll have to beat them or I’m done for. And if I give
up the school, that means no spring term at the academy. I’ve either got
to outwit Bud and his crowd or give up the school.’ Just then a strong
wind blew the smoke in our eyes and started them to smarting. This gave
Truman an idea.
“‘I might smoke them out,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘If I could only get to
the roof, I could stuff this old coat down the chimney. You wait here,
Sarah, while I look around for a ladder.’
“He strolled to the back of the building where there were no windows,
got down on his hands and knees, and crawled under the house to look for
a ladder that had been there. But the ladder was gone. He examined the
walls of the schoolhouse, but they were smoothly weather-boarded and gave
no foothold.
“He got an armful of kindling to build up the fire, and presently, though
it wasn’t noon, we opened our lunch basket and ate our dinner. A cold
wind had risen and the fire was getting low. Whatever Truman did must be
done quickly, for the short winter afternoon would soon be over.
“I shivered and edged nearer to the fire.
“‘I wish I had Belle’s new cape,’ I said. ‘It would keep me good and
warm. Did you see Belle’s new dolman and hat that she got while she was
at Clayville yesterday, Truman?’ I asked idly, just for something to say.
“He didn’t answer me at once. Then, ‘Has anyone else seen them?’ he asked
quietly. ‘I mean anyone else except our own folks.’
“‘No, not a soul,’ I said. ‘No one knows she even went to town.’
“Truman stared at me blankly. ‘I wonder if I could do it,’ he murmured.
“‘Why I’m sure you could,’ I said, not in the least knowing what he was
talking about, but eager to encourage him in any way I could.