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EEMS to me, peaches must be at their best about now, father,” Mrs.
Murray said to the captain, as they sat at breakfast one morning, about
a week after Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax had sailed.
“Shouldn't wonder, Mollie,” replied the Captain, and then he said
nothing more, for he was busy with his own thoughts.
“Shouldn't wondering doesn't help matters any,” said his wife at last,
impatiently. “What's to be done about 'em, Epher?”
“About what, Mollie?” asked the captain, for he had really forgotten
what she was talking about.
“Why! the peaches, to be sure. You must be having one of your
absent-minded turns.”
“I was thinking, Mollie,” he answered, “about getting some new blankets
and tarpaulins for the crew. That is more like minding my own business
than being absent-minded, it strikes me.”
Captain Murray had had charge of the Moorlow Life-saving Station for
eight years, and had just accepted a new appointment.
“I guess you'd say I hadn't been minding mine, if I let the fall go by
without doing up any peaches. Nobody sets more store by my preserves
than you do, Epher Murray, but you'll have few enough to set store by
this year, unless you do something pretty quick about 'em.”
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“Well! well! I'll send word over to Burchard's orchard; that's all
that's needed, isn't it?”
“And who will you send, I'd like to know?”
It seemed to Mrs. Murray as though the captain might offer his own
services for such an all-important matter as this preserving.
“Couldn't the children drive over for them?” asked Sister
Julia, who always endeavoured to make things as comfortable as possible
for everybody.
“The very thing!” Regie exclaimed.
“Oh! do let us go, father,” cried. Harry and Nan together.
“Of course you can go,” answered Captain Murray, only too willing to
give a permission that freed him from any responsibility in the matter.
To be allowed to go by themselves all the way to Burchard's orchard
seemed quite an adventure in the eyes of the children, and they were
anxious to be off but certain things must needs be first attended to.
Nan had various little indoor duties, which kept her busy for a while
every morning, and Harry had regular morning work in the neighbourhood
of the wood pile. As for Regie, Sister Julia said, kindly but firmly,
that “he could not stir a step till he had written a letter to Papa
Fairfax.” Harry soon succeeded in finishing his task, and hurried out
to the barn, as he thought, to help the man, Joe, to put Pet into the
harness. What was his disappointment to find the barn empty. He knew in
a moment that Joe must have taken him to be shod, for ponies, as well
as little people, seem to need shoeing very often, and he rushed back to
the house in a great state of excitement.
Regie was struggling with his letter, with Sister Julia sitting by as an
authority in the matter of spelling.
“Say,” cried Harry, appearing on the scene, “there isn't a sign of Pet
in the barn. I s'pose they've taken him off to be shod, and there's no
telling when they'll bring him back.” His manner showed so very plainly
what he thought, that he hardly needed to have added that “he thought it
was very mean indeed.”
“I think it is very mean, too!” said Regie; “seems to me I ought to be
told when my own pony needs shoeing, and not have him walked off just
when I want to use him.”
“If that is the case you had better off with my head, then, King Regie,”
laughed Sister Julia; “for I am the guilty one. The moment it was
decided that you should go to the orchard I sent Joe off with Pet, for
it would never do to have him cast a shoe on such a long drive.”
“Oh, that's all right then,” said Regie, apologetically. He had a
foolish trick of growing indignant over many things, because he would
not wait to find out the true facts of a case. This may be said in his
favour, however, that when he found himself in the wrong, which was very
often, he was always ready to admit it,--an honest, winning trait which
is somewhat rare in this self-confident world of ours.
“Now run along, Harry,” said Sister Julia. “This letter of Reginald's
must go out by to-morrow's steamer, and if he does not hurry, Pet will
be at the door long before he is through with it.”
Harry departed as requested, and Reginald spread his arms out on the
table, and resumed writing, accompanying every up and down stroke of
his pen with an earnest little motion of the lips, as if that were a
necessary part of the proceeding. With long pauses over certain words,
and constant appeals to Sister Julia, frequently as to the spelling of
words of which he was perfectly sure, the letter was at last finished,
and this was the result--
“Moorlow, Sept, 7th '85.
“Dear Papa Fairfax,--We are all well, and having a first-rate time, and
hope you are having a good time too. The pony is just as well and fat
as ever, but Captain Murray's cow has a very lame foot. We caught a
woodchuck last Saturday, and Captain Murray's man, Joe, skinned him, and
we gave the skin to Mrs. Murray for a little rug. We have been making
darts with horseshoe nails and corks and feathers. Did you know how to
do that when you were a little boy? We have had to put the old drake in
another place. He kept picking up the little ducks and shaking them. We
are going to a peach orchard this morning (if Pet ever comes home from
being shod). So good-bye, from
“Your loving
“Regie.
“P. S. It is very nice here. Captain Murray asked me to send his love
to you. Sister Julia is very kind. I love her next to you and Mamma
Fairfax.--R. F.”
The careful directing of the envelope was the work of an additional
five minutes, and Sister Julia stood ready to hand Reginald his hat and
crutches the moment it should be completed; for Harry and Nan and Pet
were waiting at the door, and all equally impatient.
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“Now, children,” said Sister Julia, as they were getting stowed away in
the cart, “it is eleven o'clock, and it will take you about an hour and
a half to drive over, and you must allow the same time for driving home.
I shall be worried if you are not here by five. I shall depend upon you,
Regie, to keep watch of the time. Let us see if our watches agree.” They
were found to agree to the minute, and the little party set off. Pet
was the most energetic pony; going or coming was all the same to him.
He always trotted over the ground as fast as his little legs could carry
him, seldom falling into a walk of his own accord. So it was not strange
that, with Pet's steady pattering and the children's steady chattering,
they found themselves at the peach orchard in what seemed to them a very
short space of time, though, in point of fact, they had been on the road
almost as long as Sister Julia had predicted.
Regie was able to drive right into the orchard, for the bars of the rail
fence had been let down, and they soon came to a rough platform covered
with peach baskets, some full and some empty, over which a coloured boy,
with hands plunged into his trousers pockets, was loyally keeping guard.
“Any peaches for sale?” asked Harry, scrambling out.
“Lots of 'em,” grinned the boy.
“Where's Mr. Burchard?” asked Nan.
“South corner,” indicating the direction with a bob of his woolly head;
“he's got a gang of men down there with him picking.”
“Let's go and help 'em,” said Harry, “we can eat all we want to and have
lots of fun,” but the words were no sooner uttered than he realised that
hobbling over that rough orchard was out of the question for Regie, and
indeed it was too rough to drive farther in with the cart.
“One of us must stay with Pet,” said Regie, casually, as though there
was no other reason in the world why he should not go. Harry and Nan
scampered off, with some misgivings on Nan's part as to the kindness
of deserting her king; but the vision of a seat on a comfortable bough,
with luscious peaches within easy reach, was a stronger test than even
her loyalty could bear.
“Want to get out?” said the coloured boy to Rex, when the children had
gone. “I'll help you,” glancing significantly toward the crutches.
“No, thank you,” answered Rex, “it is too much bother;” and, foolish,
sensitive little fellow that he was, he blushed up to the roots of his
hair, as though a broken leg was something to be heartily ashamed of.
“Lame long?” asked the boy, who seemed averse to wasting breath on any
unnecessary words.
“Three months,” said Rex, “but I'll soon be over it. I wish you'd let
down Pet's check,” he added, willing to change the subject.
“Boss pony,” said the boy, carrying out Regie's request, whereupon Pet
sniffed about him, expecting something to eat.
“Seems hungry,” said the boy.
“That can't be,” said Rex, proudly; “he has all the hay and oats he
wants every day.”
“Give him a peach?” asked the boy, with elevated eyebrows.
“Yes, if you want to.”
Jim, for that was the boy's name, picked out “a booty,” as he called it,
gave it rather an unnecessary rub on the side of his old trousers, and
popped it into Pet's expectant jaws. Pet made a great fuss over it.
It could hardly be an easy matter to manage a large peach, and the
good-sized pit inside of it, with a curb bit in the mouth.
“Do they give peaches to horses?” asked Reginald, beginning to have some
misgivings on the subject.
“Some's feared to do it.”
“Are they afraid of the pit's sticking in their throats?”
The boy gave a little grunt that meant “Yes, they were.” Regie was
alarmed. “But you need not fear 'bout this un,” added the boy; “he looks
knowin' enough to spit the pit out.” Jim was right, and in a few minutes
the pit fell softly to the ground. Then the boys fell to talking about
one thing and another to while away the time, until it suddenly occurred
to Jim to put another peach into Pet's mouth.
“I wish you had not done that,” said Regie, a little provoked. “I think
he came very near choking on the other one.”
There was a sound of wheels just then, and a waggon loaded with peach
baskets came in sight, with Nan and Harry seated in front of them.
“There's old black Ned,” said Jim, pointing towards the horse that was
drawing the waggon; “he eats ten peaches of a mornin', and spits the pit
out every time; but, my eyes! I reckon this pony ain't got sense enough,
arter all,” for just at this point Pet began to cough and strangle most
prodigiously.
“Pull it out, can't you?” said Rex, impatiently, whereupon the boy
simply stood and stared, plunging his hands deeper down into the depths
of his trousers pocket. Regie knew that he could get to Pet in no other
way so quickly as to scramble along his back and drop over his head. It
was the work of a moment, and the unexpected arrival of somebody on his
neck caused Pet to jerk his head so violently as to send the unlucky
stone flying out of his throat, and to land Regie in a topsy-turvy state
in front of him. Regie hardly touched the ground before Harry was at his
side, trying to help him up. Pet did not know what to make of all this,
and stood looking down at his young master with his ears pricked up and
his head on one side; but no doubt he was grateful to the transaction
that had enabled him to part company with that deplorable stone.
“Your leg's not hurt, is it, Rex?” cried Nan, instantly appearing on the
scene.
“I guess not. Get my crutches, please,” and Nan hurried to pull them out
from under the seat of the cart.
“Why, what's all this?” asked the man, who had been leading the horse
with the load of peaches.
“Oh, that old coloured boy of yours gave a peach to my pony, and then,
when he choked on the pit, was too much of a coward to try and get
it out and Rex turned to wither poor Jim with one of his most kingly
glances, but Jim had vanished.
“I should think he would take himself off,” said Harry, indignantly. “If
he'd stayed round here I would have given him a piece of my mind,” and
Harry made certain significant gestures with the plumpest of fists.
“Think of his letting a lame fellow like Rex come tumbling out of the
cart, rather than lift his hand to help a choking pony,” and an angry
red flush shot over Harry's sun-burned face.
Just at this moment Nan discovered a black curly-headed little pate
directly under a hole in the platform, but with Harry at this angry
pitch she did not dare to make known her discovery. Presently, when
Harry and Rex were busy getting into the cart, and the man's back was
turned, what did the little witch do but catch up an old tin pail near
at hand, dip it half full of powdered dust from the road, and pour
it down through that one small hole in the platform. There was a
spluttering sound as of suppressed choking. Nan was the only one that
noticed it, but her little face was sufficiently wreathed in smiles to
prove that “revenge is sweet” to the “gentler sex,” though the revenger
be still in pinafores.
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