and delayed stay with the Army of Occupation, of his prolonged and
deadly illness, in which he had twice been given up for dead, and of
how he had at last found himself able to set out for home. Thus there
was a busy hour of talk, in which Uncle Martin and Uncle Will forgot
their chores, as they sat about the table and conversed. Buddy was
safely located between his mama and papa, altho he looked with somewhat
shy wonder at the latter, whom he could not be said to know, as he had
never seen him before.
The men went about their work, and this reminded Buddy of his presents.
Quickly he wriggled down to the floor and ran to where his stockings
had hung.
“Well, well!” exclaimed Daddy, “somebody has been buying Buddy
presents, all right. Too bad Papa did not bring Buddy something too.”
All of a sudden Buddy started for the door. He jerked and twisted the
knob.
“Why, Buddy,” exclaimed his Mama, “it’s cold outside—lots of snow—you
can’t go outside now.”
“Kismas Tree! Kismas Tree!” exclaimed Buddy.
“Cold out there, all right, as I can tell,” explained Papa. “Thought I
would have frozen as we drove down this morning.”
By this time Buddy was out in the snow on the porch, dressed as he was
in his nighty. He did not mind the snow.
“What do I see?” exclaimed Mama. “Stockings—stockings hanging from the
big pine.’
“Well, I never,” was all that Aunt Clara could say. She had now crowded
close behind them. Papa went out into the snow, and soon came back with
a pair of stockings of Buddy’s which he found waving in the wind.
“So you hung your stockings on the Christmas Tree?” said Papa to Buddy
as they sat down by the fire to warm.
“That boy must have hung those up yesterday afternoon,” exclaimed Aunt
Clara.
“I declare,” said Mama, “I was looking exactly for those stockings last
night. They were the ones we were going to put up for Buddy, but we
could not find them.”
Buddy sucked his thumb in silence.
“Santy Claus, he come—come on the big Kismas Tree,” explained Buddy.
“Brung me candy and nuts and horrsie-n-n-n-”
“Yes,” explained Uncle John, “he was talking yesterday about that tree.
I told him Santa might come in an airplane. Buddy seemed sure he would
come and would crawl down by that big pine. Guess somebody did come,
too—even just like they come by airplane,” added Uncle John.
Mama put her hand on Daddy’s shoulder. Buddy only looked wise.
[Illustration: Decoration]
_Three Pines_
Ginkle had found his way once more out upon the front veranda. Ginkle,
you understand, was the name of a tousle headed boy just out of bed.
The morning sun shone brightly across the lake. The air was still
fresh with the early dew. Grandfather sat on the lower step, smoking
his after-breakfast pipe. The early day was so clear and still, and
the lake so quiet under the hills, covered with pine forest and second
growth, brush and grass, that the pipe he smoked might well have been
called the pipe of peace. This did not mean that there were any Indians
about. Ginkle came down the steps and found his way out to the tall
trees which crowned the curved edge of the hill, just as it began to
slope gently toward the water’s edge. The bank itself was rather sharp
and high, so that the little boy climbed down a series of steps, and so
reached the shore, and went upon the dock or boat-landing to sit down
and look about him. It is hard telling what a little boy of five will
think about when he first gets out of bed in the morning, and begins
the new day.
“Ginkle! Where’s Ginkle!” This is what they had come to call him. His
right name was Sylvester.
“Ginkle—come to breakfast.”
Granny was calling, and soon our little friend made his way up hill
again, and was busy with his morning meal.
“Granny goin’ ’way?” was his question, as he looked up from his
oatmeal. He had happened to notice that Grandma was busy about
preparations.
“Yes, Ginkle. Granny’s going away for the day with some friends,” was
the answer.
Grandfather’s summer home was a pleasant place for Ginkle to visit. A
five-year-old boy always likes his grandfather and grandmother. This
was now the second summer that he was spending at Three Pines. The
cottage took its name from the three splendid big pine trees that stood
right in front of the house, crowning the hill. The shore line below
formed a semi-circle, against the foot of which the bright waves of
the lake beat in the early sunshine. The sand was not so thick as to
prevent a fresh growth of grass over the hill-top and about the house.
The lake was somewhat over a half mile wide at this place. The launches
sped back and forth on their errands up and down the lake. On the other
side, under the shadow of the pine woods that lined the shore, could be
seen the boats of the early fishermen.
Our little boy had hardly waked up yet, in spite of his breakfast,
to judge from the quiet way in which he stood under the three pines,
sucking his thumb. He was tall and slim for a boy of his age. A big
head rose above his shoulders, covered with a shock of light brown
hair. He was about to toddle forward once more toward the steps that
led down to the water, when there was a call—
“Hey—little boy—Ginkle!”
This time it was Grandfather who called.
“Come on, Ginkle—Granny’s leaving now.”
On the chair by the table was Granny’s bag, all ready, and soon they
were following her along the path to the rear fence, where a car stood
waiting. Mrs. Joyce was going out for a ride, apparently, and Granny
was to go with her.
“Ginkle wants a ride?”
Certainly he did. It was unnecessary for Mrs. Joyce to ask. But as
Granny climbed in, Grannyfather took him from the running board of the
car, and held him in his arms, while he watched the car disappear down
the road among the trees and bushes.
“Now Ginkle, you must be a good boy; Granny is going away all day, and
you must take good care of Grannyfather.” This had been the good-bye
message.
“Aw wight.” Ginkle was willing, even if disappointed about the ride.
“Grannyfather will see that you get lots to eat.”
“Granny bring me something?”
“Oh, maybe.”
Grandfather and Ginkle then walked together along the path back to the
house.
“Now Ginkle,” said Grandfather, “I guess we’ll take a trip too. What do
you say?”
“Aw wight.” Ginkle was agreeable.
For some time they were busy about the house. On the table they found
a big basket. Grandfather lifted the cover just enough to see that it
was filled with good things to eat. Then he hunted up his ax, sharpened
it, and put on some working clothes. He and Ginkle set out, carrying
the basket between them. Along the sandy brush-lined road they went,
Grandfather carrying his ax upon his shoulder. After something more
than a half-mile walk they found themselves at a particularly wild and
wooded part of the shoreline. In among the pines were gray rocks at
intervals, and Grandfather hunted up a fresh bubbling water spring.
“Now, Ginkle, we must get to work,” said Grandfather.
“What do?” inquired the lad.
“Oh, we’ll just cut down a tree or two,” was the answer.
Soon a tree was selected, and to work went the ax. The woods fairly
rang with the blows, the chips flew so that Ginkle had to dodge them,
and very shortly two tall pines had fallen to the ground with a crash.
The little boy ran away at first as if scared. However, he soon learned
that there was no danger, and began to climb over the logs and run
about, shouting till the woods rang.
“Grannyfader cut nudder tree?”
“Provided Ginkle will lend a hand,” said Grandfather, as he looked
about. “Which one shall we take?”
“Dis one,” said Ginkle, petting the bark of a big tree.
“Not a bad choice,” answered the other, measuring the tree with his
eye. In a moment Grandfather was in position and hard at work. Ginkle
in the meantime ran about on the dry bedding of spines that covered the
ground, ran in and out among the bushes, climbed upon the fallen logs
of the trees that had been cut, and ran back and forth on their stems.
“Oh, boy,” exclaimed Grandfather, wiping the sweat from his brow, “I
think we’ll eat our lunch.”
“Aw wight,” exclaimed Ginkle, who had been so busy as to forget to be
hungry. They hunted up a shady place, not far from the spring, and
Grandfather opened the basket. Sandwich after sandwich disappeared, and
both ate and drank heartily.
“Cold, isn’t it?” said Grandfather as he held the cup fresh from the
spring to the lad’s lips. “Yes—cool and refreshing. And now we’ll be
ready for work again.”
“Yep,” said Ginkle; “Grannyfader, what makes the water bubble
that-a-way?” Ginkle was pointing at the spring.
“Oh,” explained the other, “The water’s trying to talk, and bubbles are
the best it can do.” Setting to work at the tree, his ax rang for some
time very vigorously.
“That pine’s big,” exclaimed he, as he stopped to wipe the sweat from
his face.
“Uh-huh,” agreed Ginkle.
This time Grandfather went to work in earnest, cutting away some brush
in order to make room. He chopped away more vigorously than ever,
and for a time he forgot his little grandson altogether. Suddenly he
remembered.
“Ginkle, oh Ginkle, where are you? Keep away—look out!” he called.
He had cut at the tree from both sides and had gone deeper than he
thought. Suddenly the big pine began to totter. Glancing about for
fear the boy might be caught, he cried out in warning. Ginkle was at a
safe distance, but Grandfather forgot himself. As he turned he found
the tree falling fast in his direction, and as he sought to jump away,
his foot caught in some brush and he fell headlong, the tree across
his prostrate body. Swish went the branches among the brush. Face down
lay Grandfather, groaning under the fall and the heavy pressure of the
fallen trunk. The cry that Ginkle gave was a relief, even in spite of
his own danger, and the little fellow came to Grandfather’s side and
tugged at his arm, crying big tears of fear and grief.
“Grannyfader hurted? Grannyfader hurted?” sobbed the lad.
“Help—we’ll need help,” groaned the prostrate man, “I—I’ll never get
out of this without help.”
“What do, Grannyfader, what do?” exclaimed Ginkle, still tugging at his
sleeve.
“Might run and tell Granny,” groaned Grandfather.
No sooner said than to his astonishment the little fellow disappeared,
running down the path toward the road. For some time thereafter
Grandfather lay struggling with his groans and his pain. It hardly
seemed possible that Ginkle could bring help, and Grandma was far away,
as he remembered, alas.
The birds chirped cheerfully, and the insects hummed. The wind sounded
among the pines. From the lake he could hear the distant sound of the
passing launch. Otherwise the only sound was his own groaning.
What had become of Ginkle? He had set out at a full run, and a short
time later appeared at the gate to the cottage, and rushing up the path
and the steps, threw the door wide open yelling—
“Granny—Granny!”
There was no answer. Grandmother was not yet at home. Crying loudly,
and still calling for “Granny,” the lad ran down the path to the road,
as tho not knowing what to do next. There he stood crying by the open
gate, both his fists in his eyes. He stopped suddenly at an unexpected
sound.
“Hi there, little boy, what’s the matter?”
In his crying he had not noticed that a car had stopped in which sat
two men.
“That’s right, little boy, quit your crying,” shouted one of them.
Ginkle stared a moment, then he yelled—
“You lie, I don’t quit. I just stop a little while and then I begin
again.” Ginkle once more set up a loud bawling.
“Well, boy, what’s the matter? Can’t you stop long enough to tell us?”
asked one of the men as he climbed down and started for the gate.
“Guess he’s purty near too young to explain,” remarked the chauffeur.
“My grannyfader, he hurted. He tumble on de tree,” sobbed Ginkle.
The moment he saw the man coming toward him he set out at a run,
“Grannyfader, he here,” continued the lad, as he ran and sobbed.
“Believe me, that kid c’n run,” exclaimed the stranger, as he climbed
back into the machine. The Ford started, rattled its usual way, and
in a moment they were following the boy up the sandy road. When they
caught up, one of the men jumped out and ran to catch the hurrying lad,
and for the rest of the way he followed him, for the little chap jumped
about and refused to be picked up. On ahead they hurried, and the car
followed behind them until they reached the place where Ginkle insisted
on going into the woods.
“Grannyfader, he here,” he explained. There was nothing to do but to
follow the little guide. The stranger had not yet been able to get an
idea as to what might be the matter. His companion stopped the machine
and came hurrying after into the bushes.
“Oho!” exclaimed the man leading Ginkle, “so this is what’s the matter.
Believe me, friend, you’re in bad.”
“So he got help, did he?” groaned Grandfather, as he twisted his head
to look.
“The little feller sure raised some holler,” assured the man, as he
bent down, touched Grandfather on the head, and felt of his hand.
“Say,” said the companion, who had also now come up, and was bending to
look, “It’s lucky, all right, there seems to be a kind o’ hollow.”
The two found themselves unable to move the heavy tree, and so the one
hurried back to the car for a shovel, and the other began to cut away
more brush. For a time they looked around for something with which to
pry, but they were not successful.
“You block it up, and I’ll begin diggin’,” said the man who had been
with Ginkle. Ginkle now sat beside Grandfather, talking to him. Gently
one of the men picked him up and put him in a safe place so that they
could work, explaining to the little fellow what they were about to
do. He himself hurried to find pieces of log which he could put under
the tree for safety, while the other dug away with the shovel. They
exchanged work, and so kept at it actively for some minutes.
“Say, friend, do you think you can stand some pulling?” asked one.
“Oh, I guess. Just try me,” answered Grandfather. Ginkle cried loudly
again, but they were too busy to notice. In a few moments Grandfather
sat against a tree, recovering from his terrible experience.
“Grannyfader tick? Grannyfader hurted?” Ginkle’s cheeks were still wet
with tears as he spoke.
“Not so bad, I guess,” answered Grandfather, “not so bad as it looked,
I hope.”
“Awkward place to turn, looks to me,” remarked the chauffeur as he
set out thru the brush toward the road. Soon they heard the machine
purring, and in a few moments he reappeared. Both men now took
Grandfather by the arms, and with their help he was able to make his
way with some groaning out to the car.
“Granny—Granny, she not home, maybe,” said Ginkle, climbing close to
Grandfather in the rear seat.
“Oh—my back—feels like it’s broken,” groaned Grandfather, as he clung
to the cushions. Soon the car started. The men drove very slowly and
carefully on their way back to the house. From the machine they helped
the injured man carefully on his way into the house, and had just
placed him among pillows in a big, comfortable-looking rocker, when
Ginkle ran suddenly for the door.
“Granny—here Granny coming,” he shouted.
In a twinkling he was down the hill at the water’s edge. She had
returned by the afternoon boat. He met Grandmother on the landing, and
was so busy telling all about what had happened to “Grannyfader” that
Granny was thoroly scared, and absolutely confused as to whether it
had been a tornado or a band of robbers, between Ginkle’s description
of fallen trees and strangers suddenly appearing, so that she hurried
breathless up the steps, across the porch, into the house, Ginkle
pulling vigorously at her hand all the way and hurrying her on.
“Why, what’s the matter? What do you mean? Grannyfather hurt? How can
that be?” exclaimed Granny, all out of breath, as she jostled into the
room along with the lad.
“Why—what has happened?” was her anxious question, as she hurried to
the rocker.
“Not so bad, Granny. Don’t get scared,” was the reassuring word from
Grandfather. All the rest were silent, and the little grandson stood
by with open eyes, chewing his thumb, as the injured man went on to
explain what had happened. By this time Granny was straightening
the pillows, and bustling about to help him into a more comfortable
position.
“Mighty lucky the little feller was around,” remarked the chauffeur,
“believe me, he c’n run. We had a hard time to keep up with ’im.”
“Yes,” added Grandfather, “you ought to have seen him start off for
help. He disappeared like a shot, without even stopping for me to
instruct him,” said Grandfather, stroking the bushy head as he spoke.
Grandmother was profuse in her gratitude to the men as they left, and
went immediately on their departure to telephone for a doctor. On his
arrival he made a careful examination, and assured them that no bones
were broken, that aside from bruises and a severe wrenching of the
back-bone there was likely no injury. After a few days, if Grandfather
was careful, he would quite surely be about again as usual. The escape
certainly was a fortunate one, and the service rendered by our little
friend remarkable. The doctor patted Ginkle on the head and left.
While the doctor came again the following day, and then again later,
all went as he had at first judged. After a few days Grannyfather and
grandson were again seated in the warm morning sunshine out under the
pines.
“Grannyfader feel well?” inquired Ginkle looking out toward the fresh
blue water of the lake.
“Remarkably so, boy, remarkably,” was the answer; “shall we go tree
cutting again?”
“Grannyfader want to go?”
“Well, maybe, how about Ginkle?”
“Um.”
“Big tree here,” exclaimed the lad, pointing at the three tall pines
just in front of the bench on which they were seated. “Jus’ like big
Kismas Tree.”
“Yes, indeed. They would make great Christmas trees, wouldn’t they?
Does Ginkle remember the Christmas story?”
“Tree wise men, too,” remarked he—“tree, jes’ like big trees here, aint
they.”
“In number, yes. I suppose you’re right there,” answered Grandfather.
“What’s that got to do with our pines? What do you mean, Ginkle?”
“Um—I dno.”
“Well, anyway, you remember, don’t you Ginkle.”
The lad looked out across the lake and apparently began to think about
something else.