BENNY FINDS A FRIEND
For a moment Benny was bewildered. He could not tell what he ought
to do. He had not been on a steamboat since he was quite a little
fellow, and that it was possible to send him ashore was out of the
question. “What will mother think?” was his first thought. “How shall
I get back?” was his second. He stood looking around him, each moment
increasing the distance between the steamboat and the shore.
“Hallo!” cried a voice at his side, “what are you doing here?” And
looking up, Benny saw the man whom he had talked to that morning on the
dock.
“I don’t know what I am doing,” he returned, in a distressed voice.
“I’m getting carried off.”
“Kidnapped, eh? Who’s the fellow that’s run you aboard?”
Benny smiled a little, and told the man his story, ending with, “And I
haven’t any money to pay my way.”
“And you’re afraid the captain will throw you overboard to get rid of
you. Is that it?”
Benny looked a little disturbed. He didn’t know just what the captain
might do.
“Well, it won’t break me to pay fifteen cents for you,” the man said,
good-naturedly. “Jim Bentley ain’t aboard. He hunted up a lot of
pickers and is taking ’em down on his bug-eye; wanted to be sure of ’em
this time.”
Benny was a little puzzled as to what a bug-eye might be till he
remembered that the small sailing vessels which came up from the truck
farms were so called by those familiar with the craft in the bay.
“Yes,” continued the man, “Jim’s not goin’ to let ’em get away this
time. There’s no boat back this evening, so you can’t get back home
to-night.”
“Oh, what will mother say? She’ll be so worried,” exclaimed Benny,
looking ready to cry.
“Sho! that’s too bad. How’ll we fix it? You might find a chance to get
back real late. There are lots of boats that get loaded up and start
off through the night so as to get the loads in for the hucksters by
sun-up or earlier; but it seems to me as long as you’ll be really down
there you might as well try pickin’. I’d give you a job myself, but I
don’t have any crop. I keep a store at the Cross Roads. Let me see.
How’ll we fix it?” And the man rubbed his stubby beard thoughtfully.
Presently he slapped Benny on the shoulder, as a bright idea came to
him. “I know!” he exclaimed; “we’ll drive ’round by Sanders’s. He’s got
a telephone, and I’ll ask him to telephone up to Dick Bond’s, at the
railroad station, then Dick can telegraph to your mother that you’re
all right, and that she’ll hear from you later. How’ll that do?”
Benny’s face beamed. “Fine,” he responded, gratefully, although he was
but half aware of the trouble and expense to which the kind man was
placing himself on the little boy’s account.
“All right. It’s a go. My name is Welch. I’ll take you home with me.
We’ll find a corner for you somewhere, and to-morrow you can go to see
Jim Bentley. Like as not Jim’ll be over himself in the morning. So
just make yourself easy.”
It was evident that Benny’s honest little face had taken the man’s
fancy, and for the rest of the trip the boy was treated as a guest by
Mr. Welch.
The small steamboat was pushing its way along steadily by this time,
and Benny gave himself up to the enjoyment of the occasion. Far off
a broad expanse of blue water, dotted with white sails, touched the
horizon; on each side could be seen banks of vivid green; an old
half-ruined fort loomed up before them. Benny could see through the
open gateway flowers blooming in the inclosure; a big dog lay sleeping
upon a strong parapet. So peaceful and quiet did the fort look that
one could scarcely imagine that there had been a time when threatening
cannon pointed from those walls and that armed men stood behind the
strong embrasure.
Just beyond the fort the “Emma Jones” turned into a broad creek, along
the shores of which were little landings where sailboats and rowboats
were moored. The tall trees were reflected in the placid waters, and
Benny caught sight of pink flowers dotting the green of the woods.
It seemed a perfect paradise to him. Oh, how Kitty would like to see
it! His mother had told him of just such places, but he had not half
realized how beautiful they could be.
Every now and then the boat stopped to let off passengers and freight
till at the head of the creek the last landing was made, and Benny
followed his good friend ashore.
A motley collection of vehicles awaited the arrival of the steamer.
Here was a spring wagon drawn by a mule; there a substantial looking
Dayton; soberly standing under a tree were two oxen harnessed to a
small cart painted bright blue. An old colored woman in a purple
sunbonnet drove the oxen.
Into a big wagon Mr. Welch packed various barrels and bundles, and
Benny soon found himself placed between an old colored man and Mr.
Welch, while the horses trotted briskly along the white-shelled road.
“We’re going round by Sanders’s,” said Mr. Welch to the driver; and
this arrangement having been complied with, all fears as to his
mother’s anxiety disappeared as Benny was told by Mr. Welch that he
had made matters all right. “I told Bill to turn on his ’phone, and
I waited, so he’d get the message straight. I shouldn’t wonder if it
was going over the wire this minute. I told him to say, ‘Ben in safe
hands. Made trip by mistake. Nobody’s fault.’ That’ll let her know you
aren’t to blame, and it’ll ease her mind. I know how mothers feel. Had
one myself.”
The little country store, before which they finally drew up, was a long
white building; a pretty lawn was on one side and a garden in the rear.
Outbuildings, a stable and henhouse, woodhouse and corn crib, showed
that it was a true country home. There was a little church across the
way, a blacksmith shop not far off, and between the two half a dozen
houses were scattered. These constituted the village of Jennings’s
Cross Roads.
Benny clambered down from the wagon and lent a willing hand to the
unloading of it, depositing the parcels on the porch in front of the
store, not pausing till the last bundle was safe.
“Hot work,” said Mr. Welch. “You’ve earned your supper, Ben; come,
let’s see what mother has for us.”
A rosy-faced woman stood on a side step as Benny and Mr. Welch made
their way to the pump in the back yard.
“Got back, Thad?” she said, pleasantly.
“Yes, and brought company,” was the reply. “That’s my wife, Ben.” “Got
room for a city visitor, Sue?”
Mrs. Welch looked curiously at Benny. “Why, yes, I reckon so,” she
answered, and then she joined them at the pump, where Mr. Welch began
vigorously to wash his face and hands, telling his wife meanwhile of
Benny’s adventures.
“That’s just like you, Thad,” she remarked, as he concluded. But
a pleased smile showed that she approved of just such proceedings
herself. “Come, supper’s ready,” she said, and led the way to the
dining-room.
Benny never forgot that supper. Hot biscuits and broiled ham; fried
potatoes and radishes; a great bowl of huge strawberries served with
thick, yellow cream; home-made sponge cake, and milk in unlimited
supply.
Mr. Welch kept piling up his plate, with due appreciation of a boy’s
appetite, till Benny felt that this was a land of plenty indeed, his
only regret being that he could not share this feast with his mother
and Kitty. Never in all his life had he eaten such a meal.
A little girl about Benny’s age sat opposite him; another, four or five
years older, and a boy nearly grown made up the additional members of
the family.
“Now, Jennie,” said Mrs. Welch to her younger daughter, as they rose
from the table, “take Ben with you to feed the chickens; I’ll venture
to say he won’t find a nicer lot anywhere.”
Jennie smiled an invitation over her shoulder, and Benny followed her
into the poultry yard, where he saw chickens of all sizes, cunning
yellow ducklings, and a flock of little turkeys. Then she took him to
the barn and displayed to his delighted eyes some little collie puppies.
“How I should like to have one, that dear little fellow with a white
spot on his forehead, for instance,” thought Benny; and Jennie, as if
reading his thoughts, said:
“Now, if you only had a place where you could keep a dog, Joe would
give you one of these, I know.”
It seemed as if the whole family were interested in the welfare of this
little candidate for the office of strawberry picker, for Benny’s
childish confidences were given honestly and freely.
He went to sleep that night in a small attic room; a tall locust tree
hanging white blooms about the little dormer window, and the sound of a
whippoorwill’s cry being his last conscious recollection before he went
to sleep. He was awakened by stirring sounds out of doors and in, and
by the time he was ready for a descent to the lower floor found that
the family were up and all at work.
Breakfast was not less bountiful than supper, and after came a second
visit to the puppies, during which time he was called in the store to
confront Mr. Bentley.
It was evident that the way to a conference had been well paved by Mr.
Welch, for Mr. Bentley’s greeting was, “Well, boy, you want to join my
pickers, I hear.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Benny.
“How will you manage about your meals? They do their own cooking, you
know.”
Benny didn’t know, and his heart sank, but Mr. Welch’s kind voice came
in with the question, “’Twouldn’t put you out much to let him eat with
your regular farm hands, would it?”
“No-o,” returned Mr. Bentley, “I don’t reckon it would.” And then
turning to Benny he said, “Well, my boy, you’ll find a pretty rough
set--Bohemians, and Italians, and Poles, and I don’t know what all--but
if you’ve a mind to try it, I’ll take you along and give you a chance;
that’s what you want, I suppose.”
“It isn’t so hot to-day, must have been a storm somewhere, last night,
Thad.”
“Yes,” returned Mr. Welch, “must have been; I saw thunder heads off
toward the northwest; they must have got it down Broad Neck way.”
“Well I’ve no time to lose,” said Mr. Bentley; “come along, boy, I’ll
give you a lift over our way;” and Benny, with a strong regret at
leaving this kind family at the Cross Roads, climbed up beside Mr.
Bentley in his road cart, and after a ride of a mile saw a white house
at the end of a long lane.
“That’s my place,” said Mr. Bentley. “I’ll let you off at the
strawberry field, and when you hear the dinner horn come up to the
house. That man sitting under the tree yonder is keeping tally. Every
dozen boxes you pick you take ’em up there and he’ll give you a little
wooden check, so that we both can keep count of what you pick. Each
check means so much, and you can earn as much or as little as you’ve
the will to do. There’s a board over yonder to carry your boxes on.
Now, we’ll see what you can do.”
And Benny was left in the big strawberry field amid a motley crew
of foreigners, strong misgivings at heart, and a little feeling of
homesickness coming over him as he faced the reality of a day’s work in
the hot sun, with no one to speak to him but strangers. He picked up
courage, however, wondering, as he started to work, how much he could
earn, and when his mother would get the queer, blotchy little letter he
had written to her the night before.