A PARTNERSHIP.
Mr. Bucklin, another Frog-End farmer, had a similar right, and he and his
son Percival were that same afternoon talking about the expected harvest
of kelp. Mr. Bucklin was saying that there was nothing to be gained by
starting for the beach till the next morning, and that even then he
couldn't go, as being one of the town's selectmen he would have some
public business to attend to,--and Percival, a bright, strong,
enterprising boy of sixteen, was insisting that their team ought to be on
the shore by daylight, and that he would be there with it if he could get
anybody to go with him, when the Elder twins came crossing fields and
leaping fences, and finally tumbled over the bars into the yard where
father and son were talking.
"Uncle Mose says--" began Moke.
"Wind's just right for the kelp," struck in Poke.
"There'll be stacks of it," Moke exclaimed.
"And we're going!" Poke continued.
That was the way they usually did an errand or told a story,--one giving
one fragment of a sentence, and his brother the next, if, indeed, they
didn't both speak together.
They ended with a proposition. Their father had gone to Portland with the
team; and if Mr. Bucklin would let Perce take his tip-cart and yoke of
steers, they would go with him, and all the sea-weed gathered by the
three should be shared equally by the two farmers.
"And what we want is----" said Moke.
"To start after an early supper this evening," said Poke.
"Camp to-night at the beach," Moke added.
"And be on hand to begin work----" Poke added, contributing his link to
the conversational chain.
"As soon as the tide turns in the morning," rattled both together.
Mr. Bucklin smiled indulgently.
"I think your uncle is right," he said. "And I'm willing Perce should go.
Though I don't know about your starting to-night to camp out."
"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Percival, as eager for the adventure as if he had
been a third twin and shared the enthusiasm of his two other selves.
"That will be all the fun!"
"We'll take some green corn----" said Moke.
"And new potatoes----" said Poke.
"And a sickle to cut grass----" Moke ran on.
"And make a fire of driftwood----" Poke outstripped him.
"For the steers," said Moke, finishing his own sentence, and not Poke's.
"To roast 'em," concluded Poke, referring to the potatoes and green corn,
and not to the steers.
"It'll be just grand!" Percival exclaimed. "May we, father? The tide will
turn about daylight; we'll have our breakfast on the beach, and be ready
to go to work; and we'll haul two big heaps on the shore, one for us and
one for them, and leave 'em till they're ready to draw away and spread on
the land. May we, father?"
"You're not so sure the kelp'll land," said the cautious farmer. "It's
notional about it sometimes."
"But if the wind keeps off shore it will!" said Moke and Poke, two voices
for a single thought.
"The wind may chip around again, and the kelp all disappear as clean as
if the beach had been swept. But I don't care," added the farmer
indulgently. "If you boys want to take the chance, I'll let Perce have
the steers. You might gather some driftwood, anyhow. The storm must have
driven a good lot of that high up, out of the reach of the common tides."
His easy consent made the boys as happy as if they had been going to a
circus; and they immediately began to make preparations for the trip.
Moke and Poke ran home for their suppers, and came running back in an
incredibly short time, bringing a basket of provisions, with ears of
unhusked corn and bottles of spruce-beer sticking out, a blanket for
their bed on the beach, and each a three-tined pitchfork for handling the
kelp. These were put into the cart, along with articles furnished by
Percival, and a quantity of hay which Mr. Bucklin said they would find
comfortable to sleep on that night, even if it didn't come handy to feed
the oxen.
The yoked steers were then made fast to the cart, and they set off.