"Come on--haying's begun," the note read. It was in Kent's angular,
boyish hand, and Jot found it pinned conspicuously to the looking-glass
frame. "Old Till and I are at it. Come on out."
So that was it? They were getting in the poor little morsel of an old
man's hay. Jot jumped into his clothes with a leap and was out in the
hay-field with them. He was inclined to be cross at being left dozing
while the work began.
"I call that shabby mean," he protested. "Why couldn't you wake a
fellow up? I guess I'd like a hand in helping the old man out, as well
as either of you."
"Wake you up!" laughed Kent. "Didn't I tickle the soles of your feet?
Didn't I pinch you? What more do you want?"
"You wouldn't wake up, Jot," Old Tilly said cheerfully. "I took a hand
at it myself, but nothing this side of a brass band would 've done it
this morning. We couldn't bring that in, you know, for fear of waking
the folks. So Kent wrote you a letter."
The work went on splendidly. They were all in fine haying trim, and the
cocks in the rough little field were tossed briskly into the rack.
There were three loads, and the last one was safely stowed in the haymow
before the little old lady in the house had stirred up her breakfast
cake.
[Illustration: They were all in fine haying trim.]
"I hope she won't discover anything before we get away," Old Tilly said.
"It would be such fun to have it a reg'lar surprise!"
"Wouldn't it!" cried Jot.
"But she might think somebody'd come along in the night and stole it,
don't you see?" Kent objected.
"No, sir, I don't see. I guess she'd see our trail. And besides, look
up there in the mow! It doesn't look just exactly as it did before we
began!"
A few minutes after the boys had glided away on their wheels, the little
old lady hurried into "pa's" room.
"Pa, pa, it's all in, jest as nice as a new pin! Every spear's in!" she
cried delightedly. "Them three boys did it before breakfast. I knew
what they was up to, but I wasn't goin' to spoil their little surprise!
I guess I know how boys like surprises. Don't you remember how Hilary
an' Eben got the potatoes all dug that time an' surprised you? How
innocent their little faces looked when you said, 'Hum-suz-a-day! how it
makes my back ache thinkin' o' those potatoes!' Joey was a tittle thing
in kilts, but he helped. He tugged 'em in, in his own little basket--I
can see jest how proud he looked! But I evened up a little on the
surprise. I guess when they come to open them bicycle baskets they'll
see some things in the way of apple-pie that was not there earlier!"
All the morning the boys wondered at the stream of wagons traveling
their way. Then just at noon they found out what it meant. They came
round a sharp curve in the road upon a beautiful grove on the shore of a
lake. It was gay with flags and the bright dresses of women and
children. Here and there an awning or tent dotted the green spaces.
People were bustling about in all directions, laughing and shouting to
each other, and every few minutes there were new arrivals.
"Hark! there's a band o' music! It's a circus!" cried Kent, excitedly.
Jot had disappeared somewhere in the crowd.
"No-o, not a circus," Old Tilly said doubtfully. "It's some kind of a
big picnic. See, there's a kind of a track laid out over there where
that flag is. They're going to have some kind of athletics."
"Foot-races and hurdles and things! Oh, I say, can't we stay and see
'em?" Kent cried eagerly.
At that instant appeared Jot, waving his cap in great excitement.
"Come on--we're invited!" he shouted. "There's going to be lots of fun,
I tell you! We can buy ice-cream, too, over in that striped tent, and
there are boats we can hire to row out in, and--everything."
"Hold on a minute!" demanded Old Tilly with the sternness of authority.
"How did you get your invitation? and what is it that's going on,
anyway?"
"Tell quick, Jot--hurry! They're getting ready for a foot-race,"
fidgeted Kent.
"It's a Grangers' picnic, that's what. And a big jolly Granger invited
us to stop to it. He asked if we weren't farmer boys, and said he
thought so by our cut when I said, yes sir-ee. He wants us to stop. He
said so. He says his folks have got bushels of truck for dinner, and we
can join in with them and welcome."
"And thanking him kindly, I'll stop!" laughed Kent, in high feather.
"Come on over there, Jot, and see 'em race." And the three young
knights were presently in the midst of the gay crowd, as gay as anybody.
The afternoon was full of fun for them. They made plenty of
acquaintances among the other brown-faced farmer boys, and entered into
the spirit of the occasion with the hearty zest of boys out holidaying.
They were a little careful about not being too free with their
spending-money. "'Cause we're out on a long run, you know," Old Tilly
said. But what they did spend went for their share of the entertainment
given so freely to them by the big Granger who had taken them in tow.
It was a day filled with a round of pleasure, as Jot had predicted.
The athletic contests on the primitive little race-track proved the
greatest attraction of all. There were bicycle races after the
foot-racing and hammer-throwing and high jumping. Jot longed to vault
into his own wheel and whirl round the track dizzily, like the rest of
them. He and Kent stood together close to the turning-point. They had
somehow drifted away from Old Tilly.
A new race began, and up at the starting-place there seemed to be a good
deal of hilarity. The hearty laughs were tantalizing.
"What is it? Why don't they come on and give us fellows a chance to
laugh, too?" exclaimed Jot, impatiently.
Kent was peering sharply between his hands. He suddenly began to laugh.
"It's a slow race!" he cried. "They're trying to see who can get
behind! Come on up further where we can see. It'll be great!"
"Come along, then--hurry!" shouted Jot.
"It's a free-for-all. Anybody can compete," somebody was saying as they
passed. "But they've got to be slower than Old Tilly!"
"Can't do it!" whispered Jot. "Old Tilly can sit still on his bike."
"I hope he'll see the race," Kent panted. "It would be mean if he
missed. Here's a good place--there they come. Look at 'em crawling
along like snails! There's one chap clear behind. Yes, sir, he's
standing still!"
Jot gave one look and uttered a shout:
"It's Old Tilly!"
"Jotham Eddy--no!"
"Look for yourself and see--ain't it?"
"Of course--no--yes, sir, it's Old Till, for a fact."
"And he's 'way behind--I told you there wasn't anybody slower'n Old
Tilly! He's beating as fast as anything."
"As slow as anything. Come on! Let's cheer him, Jot."
They caught off their caps and cheered wildly. Every-body else joined
in, catching at the name and laughing over it as a good joke.
"Hurrah--hurrah for Old Tilly!"
"Hip, hip, 'n' a tiger for Old Til-ly!"
The time-keeper called time, and Old Tilly descended from his victorious
wheel and bowed profoundly to his cheerers. He walked away to join the
other boys with the exaggerated air of a great victor, and the people
shouted again.
"Oh, I say, that was rich, Old Till," gasped Jot. "That was worth a
farm!"
"What made you think of entering?" Kent laughed.
"Oh, I thought I would--I knew I could beat 'em," Old Tilly said
modestly.
Sunset ended the festivities in the grove, and the boys mounted and rode
away with the other tired people. Gradually they fell behind.
"Don't--rush--so; I've got to keep up my reputation!" said Old Tilly.
"Besides, I'm tired."
"Me, too."
"Same here. Let's camp out to-night in the woods. Why didn't we stay
there and camp in that grove?"
"Well, we might have, but we won't go back," answered Old Tilly. "Come
on, let's make for that pretty little brown house. Maybe we can buy our
supper there."
But the little brown house was shut up tight. The curtains were all
pulled down, and a general air of "not at home" pervaded even the
clapboards and the morning-glory vine over the door. Only the neat
little barn looked hospitable. Its doors stood open wide. A distant
rumble of thunder suddenly sounded, and the sky darkened with ominous
swiftness.
"Going to rain," Kent said.
"Sure," added Jot. "Look at those clouds, will you? We'd better get
into a hole somewhere."
"We'll go into the barn," decided Old Tilly, after a minute's thought,
"and if it rains all night, we'll stay there. We can't do any harm."
It rained all night. Shower after shower burst over them heavily, and
there was a continual boom of thunder in their ears. A slight respite
at midnight was followed by the most terrific shower of all. The boys
huddled together in the hay, with awe-struck faces, but unafraid. They
could not sleep in such a magnificent tumult of nature.
Suddenly there was a blinding flash of lightning, then a crash. The
whole universe seemed tottering about them. Dizzy and stunned, they
gazed at each other, unable to move for an instant. Then it was Jot who
sprang up in tremulous haste.
"I smell smoke--we're afire!" he exclaimed.
"Yes," Old Tilly cried, striving to be calm, "it struck this barn."