[Illustration: “FEEDIN’ POSY-TREE TO BOSSY-COW!” GURGLED TROUBLE.
_The Curlytops at Cherry Farm_ _Page_ 13]
THE CURLYTOPS
AT
CHERRY FARM
OR
_Vacation Days in the Country_
BY
HOWARD R. GARIS
AUTHOR OF “THE CURLYTOPS SERIES,” “BEDTIME
STORIES,” “UNCLE WIGGILY SERIES,” ETC.
_Illustrations by
JULIA GREENE_
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
THE CURLYTOPS SERIES
By HOWARD R. GARIS
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
_THE CURLYTOPS AT CHERRY FARM_
_Or, Vacation Days in the Country_
_THE CURLYTOPS ON STAR ISLAND_
_Or, Camping Out With Grandpa_
_THE CURLYTOPS SNOWED IN_
_Or, Grand Fun With Skates and Sleds_
_THE CURLYTOPS AT UNCLE FRANK’S RANCH_
_Or, Little Folks on Ponyback_
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, New York
COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
THE CURLYTOPS AT CHERRY FARM
Printed in U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I IN THE MUD 1
II A CRASH IN THE KITCHEN 14
III AT CHERRY FARM 26
IV THE GOAT WAGON 44
V UPSIDE DOWN 66
VI THE LITTLE LAME BOY 78
VII THE FEATHER BED 95
VIII TOO MANY SHEEP 107
IX THE CURLYTOPS GO FISHING 121
X NICKNACK RUNS AWAY 131
XI TED AND THE HAY-RAKE 144
XII THE LOST DOLL 156
XIII TED AND HIS KITE 164
XIV A QUEER RIDE 174
XV GRANDPA IS WORRIED 185
XVI TRYING TO EARN MONEY 196
XVII JIMMIE HAS A TUMBLE 206
XVIII LOST IN THE WOODS 215
XIX THE LOLLYPOP MAN 224
XX CHEWING CHERRY CANDY 232
THE CURLYTOPS
AT
CHERRY FARM
CHAPTER I
IN THE MUD
“Ted! Teddy! Where are you?”
Janet Martin stood in the hall and called to her brother.
“Here I am, in the bathroom,” he answered.
“What you doing?”
“Combin’ my hair.”
“Oh, you forgot to put your ‘g’ on!” shouted Janet. “You forgot to put
your ‘g’ on!” and she clapped her hands as though at some joke.
“I don’t need any ‘g’ on my hair,” declared Ted, opening the bathroom
door and looking out at his sister. “I put on some of the switch-hazel
daddy uses when he shaves. It smells good. Want some?”
“Nope, I’ve combed my hair and it’s all fixed now. But you didn’t put
your ‘g’ on combing, and I haven’t dropped any of my ‘g’s’ to-day.”
“Well, I was in a hurry,” explained Ted, now using the comb with both
hands, the more quickly to get his hair in order.
The children’s mother was trying to teach them to speak correctly, and
not drop the ‘g’ of the words where it belonged. Sometimes they forgot,
and at other times they remembered. Once in a while Janet would remind
Teddy that he had forgotten, and, again, it would be his turn to tease
her a little.
“Hurry up and come on out!” cried Janet. “We can have some fun in the
swing and hammock. This is the first week of vacation, and we want to
have some fun!”
“I’m hurryin’--I mean hurrying--as fast as I can, but my hair is all
snarls, and mother’ll send me back to fix it if I don’t comb it. Wow!
That pulled!”
Ted made such a funny face as the comb became tangled in his tightly
curling hair that Janet laughed.
“Huh! you wouldn’t giggle if it happened to you!” protested Ted.
“Mine was all snarly too, but Nora helped me,” said Janet. “Wait, Ted,
I’ll comb it out for you and then we can go and play,” and she ran
toward the bathroom, reaching out her hand for the comb.
“You won’t hurt, will you?” asked Ted, anxiously.
“Nope! I’ll do it easy.”
Jan took hold of the comb, but no sooner had she started to pull it
through her brother’s tangle of hair than he gave a howl, almost like
those he used when he was playing Indians with the boys and pretended
to be on the warpath.
“What’s the matter? Don’t yell so!” cried Jan.
“You pull like anything!”
“Well, I can’t help it. The comb is caught fast, or something! I’ve got
to get it out,” and the little girl did her best to untangle the snarls.
“Ouch! Let it alone!” again Ted howled, and this time his mother’s
voice called up from the foot of the stairs:
“What _are_ you children doing now?”
“I’m combing Ted’s hair,” answered Janet.
“She’s pullin’ it,” declared Ted, and this time his sister did not
mention the dropped “g.” “She pulls awful! The comb’s stuck!”
“Wait a minute. I’ll come up,” said Mother Martin with a half sigh as
she started up the stairs, for there was much to do that day and she
had hoped that the children could get themselves ready for their play.
“Where’s the comb?” she asked, as she entered the bathroom.
“Ted has it,” answered Jan. “He wouldn’t let me do anything for him.”
“She pulled too much,” her brother explained.
“I don’t see the comb,” remarked Mrs. Martin.
“It’s on my head--in my hair,” explained Ted further.
If you had been there to see him you would not have wondered that he
was called “Curlytop” about as often as he was by his regular name. Jan
had the same tightly curling hair as her brother, and the two children
were often spoken of, even by strangers, as “The Curlytops.” The name
just fitted them.
“No wonder I couldn’t see it,” said Mrs. Martin, as she gently brushed
aside the hair on top of her little boy’s head and saw the comb caught
in a tangle of curls. “It’s hidden like a hen’s egg in a nest of hay.
Stand still now, and I’ll soon have you looking nice and tidy.”
If Ted’s mother pulled his hair he did not speak of it. Once or twice
he caught his breath as though about to give a cry, but he held it
back, and finally, nicely combed and brushed, he was ready to run
downstairs with his sister.
“If their hair keeps on growing and curling,” said Mrs. Martin as she
put the bathroom in order, “they’ll be losing more things in it than
combs. Look after Baby William!” she called to Ted and Jan from the
window, as she saw them down in the yard.
“We will,” promised Jan.
“Where is Trouble?” asked Ted.
“Out in the hammock. But don’t swing him too high, or he may fall out,”
answered his mother.
“All right,” assented Jan.
Trouble was the nickname given to the baby brother of Jan and Ted. He
was about three years old, and often got into mischief. That was why he
was called Trouble.
It was a beautiful, sunshiny day--the last of June--and Monday morning.
It was the beginning of the long summer vacation, school having closed
the Friday before.
“Now we’ll have some fun!” laughed Ted as he ran over the thick, green
grass and turned a somersault. “Let’s build a tent and play Indians.”
“I don’t want to play that,” objected Jan.
“Then I’ll get Tom Taylor,” declared Ted. “Here he comes now,” and he
pointed to a boy, a little larger than himself, who was walking along
the street whistling.
“Here’s the letter man,” added Jan, as she saw the mail-carrier
approaching. “I wonder if he’s got anything for us.”
She ran to the low hedge that was between the Martin side yard and the
street, and Ted followed.
“Hello, Curlytops!” was the postman’s greeting. “Here’s the mail for
you. Don’t lose it,” and he handed Jan two letters. “Any birds been
nesting in your hair to-day?” he asked Ted, putting his hand over the
hedge and ruffling up the boy’s curls.
“Nope!” answered Ted.
“He lost the comb in it and mother couldn’t find it,” Jan put in.
“I should think not!” agreed the postman, laughing. “If I had such
a head of hair as you two youngsters have, I’d be afraid of losing
my whistle in the curls. Then I’d have to stop being a postman until
I found it. But run along with the letters, Jan. Your mother may be
waiting for them.”
He gave a blast on his whistle, and crossed the street, while Jan
hurried into the house and Ted waved to Tom Taylor, calling:
“Come on in and we’ll play Indians.”
“All right,” agreed Tom.
He wiggled his way through a hole in the hedge, not waiting to go
around to the gate, and he and Ted started for a shady spot under the
trees, where Jan soon joined them.
“Come on down to the back lot,” urged Ted. “We’ll get a blanket and
make a tent like the Indians. Jan can be a squaw if she wants to.”
“I don’t want to,” Jan said quickly. “I’m going over and play with Edna
Lewis.”
“I’ll play Indian in a minute,” promised Tom. “Let’s rest a bit. I just
went to the store for my mother. She says I must help a little, even if
it is vacation. I like to help, though,” he added quickly. “She gave me
a penny for going to the store. Where are you Curlytops going on your
vacation?” he asked, and then, without waiting for an answer, he added
quickly: “I’m going down to the ocean.”
“We were there once,” said Janet. “It’s an awful big place.”
“We’re goin’ to grandpa’s farm,” said Teddy, and this time Jan did not
speak about the “g” he dropped. Perhaps she was thinking too much about
vacation fun.
“Are we really going there, Ted?” she asked her brother.
“Yep! Mother and daddy were talking about it last night. We’re to go to
Cherry Farm and stay all summer. Oh, what fun we’ll have!”
“I’ll have fun at the ocean, too,” added Tom. “But what makes ’em call
your grandpa’s place Cherry Farm?”
“’Cause it’s got so many cherry trees on it,” explained Ted. “You ought
to see ’em! There’s more’n a million!”
“There can’t be that many cherry trees in the whole world,” objected
Tom.
“Well, there’s a hundred, anyhow,” declared Ted. “I’ve seen ’em, an’
I’m going to eat a lot of cherries.”
“I wish I had some now,” sighed Tom.
“It isn’t time for ’em to be ripe, yet,” explained Janet. “Maybe we
could send you some when they are,” she kindly added. “It’s an awful
nice place at Cherry Farm. I wish you could come with us, Tom.”
“Oh, I’ll have fun down at the ocean. I’m going to sail a boat on it.
Maybe I’ll be shipwrecked,” and Tom seemed to think that would be great
fun.
“I wouldn’t want to be shipwrecked,” remarked Ted. “My mother read me a
story once about a sailor that was wrecked, and he didn’t have a thing
to eat but his old shoes.”
“Didn’t he have any bread an’ butter with ’im?” asked Tom.
“Nope.”
“Then I guess I won’t be shipwrecked,” decided Tom. “I like bread and
butter.”
“You could be shipwrecked on my grandpa’s farm, and eat cherries,”
suggested Jan.
“Pooh!” exclaimed Tom. “You couldn’t be shipwrecked without an ocean,
and there isn’t any ocean on Cherry Farm I guess.”
“There’s a lake!” returned Teddy quickly. “I’m going to sail a boat on
that, and maybe I’ll be shipwrecked. I’ll take some cherries with me,
though. I guess I’ll go and fix my small sailboat now. That’ll be more
fun than playin’ Indian.”
“And I’ve got to wash my doll’s dress,” said Jan. “Oh, look!” she
called to her brother. “There’s mother in the door waving to us.”
“She wants us to run, I guess,” added Ted, “for she’s waving awful
hard.”
“I wonder what she does want,” murmured Jan.
“Maybe she wants us to go to the store,” suggested Ted. “She’s got a
paper in her hand like she writes down things so we don’t forget to
remember.”
“That’s the letter I gave her from the postman,” explained Jan, and she
and her brother ran faster than before toward their mother.
“Oh, children!” cried Mrs. Martin as Ted and Jan drew near, Tom having
gone back home the way he came, through the hedge, “have you seen Baby
William?”
“Seen Trouble?” asked Ted, laughing.
“Yes, only I wish you wouldn’t call him that name when he’s lost!”
“Lost?” cried Ted and Jan in a chorus like twins, only they weren’t.
“He must be lost,” went on Mrs. Martin. “I can’t see him anywhere. Did
you go to him when you went out after having had your hair combed?”
“No--we didn’t,” and Ted spoke slowly. “We forgot.”
“Then please go to look for him,” went on Mrs. Martin. “I saw him
playing in the yard near the hammock, but he may have crawled through
the hedge. I’ll come after you as soon as I answer the telephone which
is ringing. Hurry, and find William!”
“We will!” answered Ted. “Come on, Jan!”
Jan and Ted hurried around to the rear yard of their house to look for
Trouble. That, really, was what Baby William was called more often than
anything else. Daddy Martin called him a “bunch of trouble,” while
Mother Martin always put “dear” before the name. To Ted and Jan their
little brother was just plain “Trouble” for he seemed to get into so
much mischief.
“Where do you s’pose he is now?” asked Jan, as she looked here and
there in the yard.
“Maybe he’s in the chicken coop,” replied Ted. “He hid there once and
came out all covered with feathers, like a rooster.”
But Trouble was not there. Though an old hen that flew cackling off her
nest probably thought the two children made trouble enough for her,
getting her all in a flutter just when she wanted to lay an egg.
“Look in the toolhouse,” suggested Ted, when he and his sister had
searched in several places without finding their little brother.
Together the two children started toward a small building where the
hoe, rake, shovel and other garden tools were kept. This was one of the
places where Trouble best liked to come when he could toddle off by
himself.
But Trouble was not in the toolhouse. Ted and his sister stood looking
about the yard and garden. They were wondering where next to search,
and they were wishing their mother would come out to help them, when
they heard a sudden laugh. The sound came from the little brook that
ran at the lower end of the garden.
“There he is!” cried Ted.
“Oh, I hope he hasn’t fallen in!” gasped Jan.
“He couldn’t laugh if he had,” declared Ted. “His mouth would be full
of water.”
“Oh, Trouble would laugh no matter what happened,” returned Jan. “Come
on--let’s find him!”
The two Curlytops parted the currant bushes that grew on the edge of
the small brook. Then they saw Trouble.
Their little brother was standing in mud and water over his knees,
holding out a bunch of watercress to a brindle cow that stood in the
brook, reaching out her tongue for the bunch of green.
“Oh, Trouble!” cried Jan. “Oh, Trouble!”
“My! what a sight you are!” exclaimed Ted. “Maybe mother won’t give it
to you for getting all muddy! What you doin’?”
“Feedin’ posy-tree to bossy-cow!” gurgled Trouble. He called any bunch
of weeds, flowers or grass a “posy-tree.”
“Come right here to me this minute!” ordered Jan, as she had heard her
mother call. “Come here, Trouble!”
“Trouble can’t! Trouble got to feed posy-tree to bossy-cow.”
“I guess he’s stuck in the mud,” remarked Ted. “That mud’s awful
sticky. I’ve been in it. Trouble is stuck in the mud all right!”