AMONG THE PICKERS
Benny was not a saint by any means. He was just as full of faults
as many other boys, but he had a warm, generous heart, and had been
carefully brought up, so, even if he was not always as thoughtful as
he might be, and sometimes forgot to be promptly obedient, he was at
least truthful, honest, and pure in heart, a fact which made the boys
in his neighborhood call him “old Particular,” or “old Partick” for
short. He was used to pretty rough company sometimes, but he had never
been thrown with quite such a crowd as that which surrounded him in the
strawberry patch. Coarse, boorish men, vixenish, loud-voiced women,
who jostled and elbowed him at times, the younger ones teasing and
badgering him in queer broken English.
[Illustration: IT WAS NOT VERY PLEASANT WORK]
It was not very pleasant work to stoop over the vines with the sun
beating down on his head, and his fingers becoming weary of the
constant picking. Therefore the first half a day Benny did not make
much headway, and was glad enough when twelve o’clock came, and the
pickers trooped to their quarters, leaving Benny to find his way to
the house, where he was to take his meals in the kitchen with the
farm hands. A coarse, but plentiful meal, was provided; it consisted
of bacon, cabbage, and corn bread, and Benny was hungry enough to eat
heartily.
As he was returning to the field, he spied a pretty little girl about
three years of age sitting on the kitchen step playing with a kitten.
She smiled up at Benny and began to chatter to him in her baby way, so
that he could not resist stopping to talk to her, and while she was
laughing merrily at some of his tricks her little brother, a couple of
years older, came around the corner of the house, and the three were
soon having a very jolly time. But Benny suddenly became aware that he
was wasting too much time, and made ready to go back to his work.
“Don’t go,” begged the little boy. “Pleathe don’t go,” lisped the
little girl.
“I must,” returned Benny. “I have work to do.”
“Come back soon,” shouted the little boy after him, “I like you.” And
Benny went on, somewhat cheered by these new friends he had made.
It was, nevertheless, a long day, and when the evening came he crept
off by himself to listen to the whippoorwills and to look at the bright
stars shining over the tops of the trees.
“The country’s nice enough,” he said to himself, “but it isn’t much
fun to be a picker.” Then he thought of his mother and sister in the
narrow, hot street, and wished they were with him. A sound of wild
mirth, of snatches of song, of wrangling and shouting came to him from
the pickers’ quarters. He dreaded returning to their midst and wished
that he could sleep in the little white bed at Mr. Welch’s or in his
own tiny room at home, instead of in one of those queer-looking bunks
roughly made of boards and built along the sides of the room.
If his mother could have seen her boy that night asleep in that crowd
of strange-looking persons, she would have been even more concerned
than she was for his welfare.
Two or three days passed and Benny became more used to his
surroundings. He made friends with some of the pickers, who took him
under their protection when one big boy bullied him; but still he felt
strange and out of place among them.
It was on the second day that he was elbowed out of his place, before
some particularly well-filled vines, by a big, scowling Polish boy, who
said, “You no beezness here, zis is for me.”
“I’d like to know why,” replied Benny, manfully.
“I come first,” retorted the boy, thrusting Benny aside.
“You may have come first to Mr. Bentley’s, but I came to this place
first, and I’m going to stay,” continued Benny, valiantly holding his
position.
The big boy doubled up his fists threateningly, and muttered something
in a foreign tongue. Then he made a dash at Benny, but just as he
reached him he was caught by the shoulder and a voice said, “Here,
here, none of this! Get back to your place, you big fellow. You belong
farther up the line,” and Benny saw that the overseer was at his side.
“That’s an ugly chap,” he said to Benny, as Ivan departed, muttering.
“I’m sorry we brought him. He doesn’t seem to make friends, and is a
pretty mean enemy. You’d better keep out of his way. If he cuts up too
high, just let me know, and I’ll drop him.”
Benny went back to his work much relieved, but it was evident that from
henceforth Ivan bore him a grudge. He tried in numerous ways to annoy
the little boy. Once he roughly ran against him, upsetting his load of
a dozen boxes of strawberries which Benny was carrying on a board to
where Mr. Bentley was keeping tally. This meant loss of time as well as
of berries, for some of them were too crushed to be returned to their
boxes, and Benny with rage in his heart, but with a helpless feeling,
gathered up his fruit as best he could, knowing that what to the casual
observer looked like an accident, was, in fact, an act of spite on the
part of Ivan.
Another time Benny had placed eleven boxes on a board and was filling
the twelfth when Ivan deftly caught up the board and disappeared with
it; so when Benny turned around it was nowhere to be seen.
“Where are my berries?” he exclaimed, but there seemed to be no one who
had seen the berries disappear, and Benny, cheated a second time, felt
as if he could cry. There was such a woe-begone look on his face that
Mr. Bentley noticed it when he next came up.
“What’s the matter, boy?” he said. “Want to go home?” And Benny, in the
fullness of his heart, told him what was wrong.
“Sho!” he returned. “That’s a shame. Still we’ve no proof as to who
took them. You’ll have to watch sharp. This is a pretty mean gang I
have here this year. I had to take what I could get. Don’t you want
to go over to the store for me instead of picking this afternoon? I
haven’t anyone I can spare to send, and my wife wants the mail, and two
or three things I forgot to get when I was over last. She hauled me
over the coals for forgetting. I’ll give you just the same as if you
were picking, and I think I can trust you not to waste your time.”
Benny’s face brightened, and after receiving his instructions he
started off heartily glad for the business which took him again to kind
Mr. Welch’s.
His way led through the pines a short distance, then through another
piece of woods, and over the shell road till he came to the cross roads.
Little Jennie was the first to spy him as he came up. “Hallo, Ben,” she
said. “Aren’t you going to stay at Mr. Bentley’s?”
“Oh, yes; but he sent me over for the mail, and for some things Mrs.
Bentley wanted.”
“I hoped you’d stay. Father has a letter for you; it came down on the
boat with a bundle of clothes your mother sent.”
Benny hurried into the store to hear what Mr. Welch had to say, and to
receive his package. At sight of his mother’s little letter he felt
a great longing to see her. “Kitty is not very well. She misses you
sadly,” wrote his mother. “I’m glad my boy is trying to help me, but I
shall be even more glad to see him again.”
Benny looked at rosy little Jennie and sighed.
“What makes you so solemn?” she asked. “What are you thinking about?”
“I was wishing my little sister was as rosy and round as you are, and
had such nice pink cheeks,” replied Benny.
Jennie laughed, and then she asked, “Why, is she sick?”
“Yes, kind of sick. She never was very strong. The doctor says she
ought to live in the country.”
Jennie’s round face took on a serious look, and presently she went up
to her father and whispered something. “That must be as your mother
says,” he answered, giving a snap to the string with which he was tying
up Benny’s packages.
“Can you manage all these packages and your bundle?” he asked the boy.
“Oh, yes,” said Benny. “These things aren’t heavy, and my bundle hasn’t
much in it. I can easily take them all.”
“Sorry you can’t stay to tea,” said Mr. Welch. “Come over and spend
Sunday with us; can’t you?”
“I should like to,” replied Benny, delightedly.
“Come over Saturday night--you might as well--and go to Sunday school
with the children; they’d like to have you.”
“Poor little youngster,” he said, as Benny turned away with a happier
face than he had worn when he came. “I like the little chap. I started
out pretty young myself, and I know what it is.”
Benny turned to go back with a light step. It was late in the
afternoon, and already growing shadowy in the deep pine grove through
which he had to pass. He was not afraid, however, for he had sense
enough to know that there were neither bears nor wildcats thereabouts,
and he did not even consider whether he would encounter a snake. He
caught sight of a gray squirrel scampering up a tree, and saw a clumsy
land turtle traveling slowly along.
“I never saw one of those queer chaps before,” said Benny to himself.
“Isn’t it funny how they carry their houses on their backs? It’s
mighty convenient, I suppose, but I think I should find it rather
tiresome. Oh, there’s a rabbit. My! but there’s a lot of things to see
in the woods. Ever so many people live here, for all they keep out of
sight most of the time.” And Benny chuckled to himself at the thought.
He kept on steadily till he was about in the middle of the woods,
when presently there came from the thicket close by a sound between
a growl and a moan, and the boy stood still to listen. The sound was
repeated, and this time it sounded nearer. Benny was no coward, but it
must be confessed that his heart misgave him, and for a moment he stood
uncertain whether to run or whether to investigate the matter.
“I’ll see what it is, I won’t be silly,” he told himself. “Maybe
somebody is hurt in there.” And he dauntlessly followed the sound as
a cry of distress reached his ears. Then he seized a stick and rushed
forward.