SUNNYCREST
At Hammersmith a big, old-fashioned carryall stood beside the station
platform and behind it a light spring wagon, the two drivers standing
side by side on the platform, watching the descending passengers
anxiously. The older man was Joshua Adams, the head man on grandfather’s
farm. Grandmother always called him Joshua, but to every one else he was
Josh. His companion, Jo Perkins, a young stable boy familiarly known as
“Perk,” was new on the place since the twins’ last visit, and they did
not know him. They eyed him curiously as they shook hands heartily with
Joshua, who was an old and long-tried friend.
“My, my, you’ve growed sence I see ye,” exclaimed Joshua, standing the
children off and looking at them in mock amazement. “Most big enough to
be giants in a side-show.”
“Oh, shucks,” said Christopher, squirming with embarrassment. “Has Juno
got any new pups?”
“Well, you have growed, ’pon my word. Now I leave it to Miss Jane if you
haven’t. Hain’t you, Miss Jane? And you’re both of you dressed different
now, so ’t I can tell ye apart,” he added teasingly.
Of course Joshua had seen the children many times since the day
Christopher had been promoted to trousers, but he never lost a chance of
reminding the boy that he had passed through a petticoat period.
Perk felt a little bit out of this intimate party. He stood awkwardly in
the background, fingering his hat and winking gravely at Christopher
whenever he caught his eye. Grandfather bustled up presently, followed
by the station agent wheeling the trunks on a truck, which Perk
proceeded to pile on the wagon. Joshua untied the team and mounted to
the front seat of the big carriage.
“Where’s Nelly Gray?” asked Jane, missing the gray mare with the white
star on her forehead.
“Why, Nelly, she’s out to pastur’ for a while. Got a nail in her foot.”
“Oh, poor horsey! How it must have hurt! Did you get it out?”
“Why of course, greeney,” interposed Christopher knowingly, “else the
horse would have died, wouldn’t it, Josh?”
Jane climbed into the carriage and sat down opposite her grandparents,
but Christopher hung back.
“I want to go on the wagon. Mayn’t I, please?”
“Oh, yes,” consented grandfather good-naturedly, “if you promise to sit
still and not ask to drive.”
Christopher avoided Jane’s reproachful look and capered off joyfully.
Jane felt hurt at being deserted by her twin so soon, but she knew that
Christopher was anxious to make Perk’s acquaintance.
“I s’pose boys can’t help likin’ other boys a little,” she reflected
philosophically, and hugged her doll comfortably.
In spite of her nine years and her brother’s teasing, Jane persisted in
playing with dolls and had a large, well-beloved family.
“Say, I’m going to ride home with you,” announced Christopher, climbing
up on the high wagon seat. “Shall I hold the horse for you while you
strap on the trunks?”
“He’s hitched,” drawled Perk with a twinkle in his eye. “But I guess
’twon’t hurt if you want to hold the lines.”
“Oh, I didn’t notice that he was tied,” said Christopher, a bit
crestfallen, and feeling his youth. “I’d like to drive,” he added with
reviving spirit as Perk strapped on the last trunk and mounted to his
seat (swinging up over the wheel after the horse had started, to
Christopher’s keen envy), “but grandfather said I mustn’t ask. But I
could. A friend of my father’s has an automobile and he let me steer it
one day, oh, a long way.”
Perk was distinctly impressed by this statement and dropped some of the
patronage from his manner. Perk had never even seen an automobile.
As they drove down the length of the village street, Christopher was on
the lookout for changes. It was two years since he had visited in
Hammersmith, which left plenty of time for improvements. Each new
building or alteration had to be remarked upon to Perk, for
Christopher’s tongue would never stay quiet. Jane declared once that it
wagged in his sleep.
“I see somebody else has got the blacksmith’s forge. Mr. Parsons used to
run it.”
“Yes, but Mr. Parsons is too tony now to shoe horses. He makes wagons
an’ keeps summer boarders.”
“Hello, Jones has got a partner. My, but they used to have good
sarsaparilla there,” exclaimed Christopher, smacking his lips.
“They do still,” answered Perk, smacking his.
“I’ll treat you some time. I’m to have fifteen cents a week pocket money
all summer, an’ so’s Jane. Hi, there’s a new store. Say, it’s a dandy.”
“It’s a newspaper office up-stairs. Downstairs they have a store where
nothin’ costs more’n ten cents; and lots of things cost only five. Ain’t
that a queer sort of store?”
“Not so queer as I’ve seen. Why, they’ve got a store in the city where
everything costs ninety-nine cents. My mother’d never let me buy there,
but they had mighty pretty things in the windows. Painted plates and
things. Lots of people go there because they think it’s so much cheaper
than a dollar. Aren’t some people silly?”
They had turned out of the village by this time into the country road
which led to Sunnycrest.
“Do you play marbles?” asked Christopher, patting a bag of beloved
alleys in his trousers pocket.
“Naw—that’s a kid’s game,” said Perk contemptuously. He was feeling a
trifle sore over the fact that this boy, so much younger than he, had
ridden in an automobile and had seen a ninety-nine-cent store.
Christopher withdrew his hand suddenly from his pocket.
“Yes, isn’t it?” he agreed quickly. Then, lest Perk should have heard
the rattle of the marbles he said carelessly: “I play with Jane
sometimes—to amuse her. And there’s a boy lives in our street that
coaxes me to have a game with him once in a while. I do it to please him
’cause he’s lame, but it never seems fair to play for keeps with him.
He’s only eight and a half.”
Christopher hauled the bag of marbles out of his pocket and displayed
them indifferently, as if they were spoils. But all the time his heart
thumped guiltily at the white lie he was acting, for up to the present
moment he had loved the game of marbles and had looked upon it as a
manly sport.
“Gee, did you win all them? They’re beauties,” exclaimed Perk in
admiration, transferring the reins to one hand in order to examine the
different marbles.
“No, not exactly all,” admitted Christopher, “some I had. And some I
traded,” he added, thrusting the bag back into his pocket.
“Hum. Want to swap knives?”
Christopher’s heart sank. His father had presented him with a very
wonderful, five-bladed knife as a farewell gift. Christopher had not
even whittled with it yet. The idea of parting with it hurt. He drew it
from his pocket with mingled pride and concern. He did not want to
appear unmanly, but he was quite sure that Perk could have nothing half
so good to trade.
But Perk saw the value of the knife and was square enough to refuse to
take any advantages. He admired it even more extravagantly than he had
done the marbles.
“Of course you don’t want to swap something that was a present,” he
said. “’Twouldn’t be treating your daddy right.”
“You can borrow it whenever you want,” replied Christopher gratefully.
Presently Perk called Christopher’s attention to several flaming posters
that decorated the rail fences on either side of the road.
“There’s a circus comin’ to town next week,” he said. “Guess it’s going
to be a pretty good show.”
“Oh, what bully fun!” cried Christopher. “We know a little circus girl,”
and he told the story of Letty and the bear. Together they studied the
bills as they passed, comparing notes as to their opinion of the
different feats advertised and choosing which side-shows they would like
best to see.
This amiable conversation occupied them all the rest of the drive.
Sunnycrest was a big white house on the top of a ridge. In front, except
for a wide square of green lawn just before the house, the grounds
sloped so steeply that terraces had been made every few yards, and at
the bottom ran a delightful little brook. At the bottom of the hill were
the farmhouse, barn, chicken and cow-houses and, where the brook curved
and ran through a shallow, cemented basin, the spring-house and dairy.
Behind the house was a big orchard and beyond stretched fields of grain
and hay.
Christopher jumped down from the wagon almost before it stopped and
rushed into the kitchen where Jane’s bobbed head could be seen, topped
with a big pink bow. Huldah the cook was another old and very dear
friend of the children’s.
“Hullo, Huldah. Got any ginger cakes?” shouted Christopher. “My stomach
just aches for one of your spiced ginger cakes. Haven’t had one for two
years, you know.”
“I’m afraid your stomach will ache still more before you are through,”
mildly observed grandmother, who had followed him in.
But she did not forbid his eating the cakes, even though supper was
almost ready. That is one of the privileges of growing old enough to be
a grandmother.
The two horses had brought the carriage home at a much quicker rate than
the heavily loaded wagon could travel and Jane had already explored the
whole place in her quiet, energetic way. She had learned all the news
regarding live stock new and old and had petted all her favorites. Dora
the cat was specially friendly and Jane was convinced that the little
animal remembered her from her former visit, two years before.
“I think that’s quite remarkable in a cat, don’t you, grandmother?” she
said. “Now, if it was Juno, I shouldn’t be so surprised. Dogs always
remember people. But with cats, it’s different.”
There were no kittens at present, but Huldah described past families
with much detail. She had kept a written account of the color and name
of each kitten and its fate. Most of the kittens had been given away or
disposed of in their early infancy. Some, grown to cat-hood, disported
themselves about the stables with a serene indifference to the house
privileges of their mamma, and with a keen taste for rats—certainly not
inherited from her. Dora was far too aristocratic to care for any food
less appetizing than fresh milk and bits of cooked meat, cut into dainty
morsels.
Juno had four new puppies, dear little fuzzy balls of fur; and there
were two new calves—with such thin wabbly legs and big, scared eyes—in
the barnyard. Six patiently setting hens promised dozens of fluffy
chicks before long, and a brood of ducklings swam in the stable pond.
Jane had taken in all these marvels and her little brain was busy
choosing names for the new puppies while grandmother washed her face and
tidied her hair for supper.
She gave Christopher the news as they munched ginger cakes together.
Jane had not thought to ask for the cakes but when they came she ate
almost as many as Christopher.
“The pups are awfully cunning,” she said patronizingly. “And I know just
where Juno keeps them. I’ll take you to see them in the morning.”
“Huh, I can find them myself. I’m going now. And I choose to name two of
’em.”
“They’re all named; every single one. And you can’t go to see them now,
’cause supper’s ready.”
“Who named them, I’d like to know? If you did it don’t count, ’cause
it’s not fair to go and name all four, without asking me.”
“If you choose to go off with a strange boy, how can I ask you? Those
pups are three weeks old and they just had to be named. They’re real
nice names,” she added hastily, as Christopher made for the door.
“They——”
“Kit, Kit,” called his grandmother, “go up-stairs and wash your hands.
Supper is ready.”
“And waffles are no good when they have to stand,” added Huldah
meaningly.
This hint was enough to send Christopher at a flying leap up the front
stairs.
“I’ll show you the pups in the morning,” repeated Jane with exasperating
calmness, following and watching his hasty ablutions from the bath-room
door.
“Humph!” answered Christopher with ingratitude, as he splashed the water
resentfully. “I guess I can find the pups easy enough—if I want to see
’em. And I know something you don’t know. A circus is coming to town
next week, so there!”
“I did know it, but it’s not coming for two weeks. There’s a lovely
horseback rider in it and grandfather said perhaps he’d take us,”
replied Jane.
Then, carried away by the remembered charms of the circus posters, the
twins linked arms and ran down to supper, their slight disagreement
already forgotten.
Thus life settled down at Sunnycrest, happy and peaceful for the most
part; always interesting but with now and then a little cloud of
disappointment or regret overshadowing the sky of their sunny
content—which, alas, is apt to be the way in life at every age.
Jane was rather sorry that Jo Perkins had come to work on the farm. He
took Christopher away from her so often. To be sure there were a great
many things that they could do all together; hunt for eggs, feed the
chickens, milk the cows (for Jane and Christopher both learned to milk).
But when Perk took Christopher fishing, Jane was not invited to go.
Christopher soon developed into quite a sportsman, and begged his
grandfather for a gun—Jane turned pale when she heard the request—to
shoot some of the rabbits that ran so thick in the woods. But this
grandfather positively refused to allow, nor would he permit Perk to
carry a gun when Christopher was with him. So the two boys were obliged
to content their sporting taste with fishing-rods and angleworms.
Whenever she thought about it, Jane felt surprised and a bit hurt at
this ready abandonment of her by Christopher, but her own time was so
filled up before long that at times she hardly missed him. Her little
woman’s soul took as thriftily to household duties as the boy’s instinct
turned to sport. Huldah found her nimble fingers of real use in shelling
peas, beating eggs and sifting flour. Indeed, seldom had Huldah’s cake
been so light, for in her zeal Jane sifted and resifted the flour and
beat the eggs to such a stiffness that it seemed as if they would have
to be broken up to stir into the batter, Huldah said.
But grandmother did not encourage indoor work to any great extent, and
Jane spent many blissful hours in the orchard with her family of dolls,
always in sight of either grandmother’s or Huldah’s watchful eye. For
although the twins had reached the dignity of nine years, they were
seldom left to their own devices for long at a time. Grandfather and
grandmother felt their responsibility too strongly to take any risks,
for had they not promised the anxious parents across the sea to take the
best of care of these precious children?
Jane was a motherly little body and extended her care of the doll family
to Juno’s family as well and Juno got into the habit of carrying the
four fluffy balls of fur out to the orchard, where they all had merry
romps, rolling about together in the sun and shade.
But even with these diversions Jane might have grown lonely at times
during Christopher’s more frequent and longer absences with Perk and
Bill Carpenter, a village boy, had not a new game been suggested to her
by Mrs. Hartwell-Jones. Grandmother had called very promptly upon Mrs.
Hartwell-Jones at her boarding-place in the village. The “lady who wrote
books” had been so honestly disappointed that grandmother had not
brought the children too that Mrs. Baker promised to return with them
the very next day.
Jane was silent and a little awed, but Christopher was his usual
cheerful, talkative self—with secret anticipations of another candy box.
His hopes were not disappointed, for Mrs. Hartwell-Jones had planned for
their visit and a regular “party” was spread forth, ice-cream,
lady-fingers and chocolate drops all complete. Afterward she questioned
them about what they did all day, every day.
“I milk the cows,” said Christopher boastfully.
“I can milk too,” interposed Jane.
“And I go off in the fields with Perk. When grandfather can spare him
from the work we go fishing.”
“How splendid! And what do you do, Janey dear, when Kit is off with his
rod?”
“Oh, I help Huldah make cake, and play in the orchard.”
“The orchard! What a fairy-land! May I play with you there some day when
I come to Sunnycrest?”
“Oh, would you like to?” asked Jane with big eyes. “It would be
splendid!”
“We shall have a fairies’ ball and you shall be queen.”
“Oh, oh! And the grape-vine swing will do for a throne. But perhaps you
would rather be queen,” added Jane politely.
“No, I’ll be master of ceremonies.”
They had the game before many more days, and it opened up a new world to
Jane who thereafter queened it royally in fairy-land, with the dolls for
ladies of honor and the birds and butterflies her royal messengers. Her
faith in the real fairies was firm and deep-rooted, the most ardent
desire of her life being to see one. She never confided this hope to
Christopher and the new game was kept for her lonely hours when
Christopher was away with Jo Perkins or Bill Carpenter, with which
latter boy his intimacy was growing.