AN UNPLEASANT MEETING
It proved to be Philip under the seat, and he rolled his eyes
beseechingly at Sam as Bobby pulled him out by his collar.
"Which one of you kids hid him under the seat?" demanded Sam sternly.
"I didn't, honestly, Sam," said Meg.
Bobby and the twins denied that they had had anything to do with
Philip and his appearance.
"I did see him under the seat asleep this morning when we were out in
the garage," admitted Twaddles. "I guess he didn't wake up till now."
"Well, he'll have to walk back with you, that's all," grumbled Sam.
"Your father doesn't want a dog around when he's thinking about
business. What is it, Bobby?"
"There's a queer looking stone," said Bobby, who had been pulling at
Sam's sleeve to attract his attention. "See it down there? Slow up,
and you will. There! Let me get out and get it for my collection?"
Sam slowed down the car, and looked with interest at the spot to which
Bobby pointed. Then he laughed.
"That's a lump of coal," he announced. "Fell off a heavy load, I
guess, on its way to the foundry. Collecting stones, are you, Bobby?"
"Not exactly," said Bobby. "You see I heard about a boy who went
around cracking pebbles and stones and sometimes he found very
valuable ones. Maybe I will, too. Anyway I like to crack 'em."
"I see," said Sam, looking at his watch. "Well, we'll have to hustle a
little to make it by two o'clock. Hold your hats, youngsters."
Sam delighted to let the car out occasionally, and for the next few
minutes they whirled steadily through a cloud of dust. Then the iron
gates of the foundry, of which Father Blossom was the owner and where
he had his office, loomed up ahead of them, and Sam put on the
brakes.
"Coming right away," called Father Blossom, as the car rolled past the
office window, where he was working at a roll-top desk, and stopped
before the door.
In just a moment he came out, buckling his brief case as he came down
the steps.
"They wanted to come," said Sam apologetically, indicating his
passengers. "I told 'em they'd have to walk home, because you were
going over to Clayton."
"Yes, can't have you along this trip," declared Father Blossom
regretfully. "Where are you going, Sam?"
Sam was driving further into the foundry yard. He turned with a
half-sheepish grin to answer his employer.
"Going to drive in around the pump and make a turn," he said. "Meg
doesn't like to be in the car when it's backing, so I thought I
wouldn't worry her."
So Sam drove carefully around the piles of iron and scraps and, making
a wide detour at the pump, drove out of the yard again. Meg smiled her
thanks. She wished she didn't feel that a car was likely to tip over
when it was backed, but she was sure she couldn't help that
feeling.
"Now I s'pose we'll have to get out," murmured Bobby, as they came to
the sign-post with a finger pointing to "Oak Hill, 2 miles," in one
direction, and another finger reading, "Clayton, 8 miles," pointing
another way.
"Yes, and don't loiter," directed Father Blossom. "Go straight home
and tell Mother if I can I'll be back for supper, but not to wait for
me."
Philip was glad to be out of the car, and he frisked ahead, barking
and trying to tempt some one to run a race with him.
"This looks valuable," said Bobby, picking up a pebble he found at one
side of the road. "Wait a minute, Meg, till I see."
The twins watched with interest while Bobby smashed the pebble with
his hammer.
"Is it valuable?" demanded Twaddles.
Bobby brushed away the dust and gathered up the fragments. It was a
white pebble, and the broken bits were white, faintly veined with
yellow.
"I shouldn't wonder if it's very rare," hazarded the collector.
"Anyway, I'm going to take it and keep it."
He scooped the pieces into his bag, and then the four trotted briskly
along toward home.
"Well, goodness, this is luck!" cried a hearty voice, and an
automobile that had come up behind them stopped. It was the Oak Hill
grocery-store car, and kind, stout Mr. Hambert, one of the clerks, was
out making deliveries.
"I'm going over to Riceville," he said, leaning out to talk to the
children. "Don't you want to go along? Room for everybody, and I'll
have you home by supper time."
"Oh, Meg, let's," teased Dot, who dearly loved to go anywhere. "Mother
won't care. Come on."
"I have to practice," said Meg soberly. "But the rest of you can go.
I'll tell Mother so she won't worry."
"I'll go with you," declared Bobby. "It's my turn to fix up the rabbit
pen. Twaddles didn't half do it last week."
"Did too," retorted Twaddles, already scrambling into the seat
beside Mr. Hambert. "Guess I keep those rabbits as good as you do,
Bobby. You're always fussing."
Mr. Hambert held out a hand to Dot and pulled her into place beside
him.
"All right," he nodded kindly to Meg and Bobby. "You won't be sorry if
you do the work first and play afterward. Tell your mother I'll see
these youngsters safe home by half-past five."
"Do you suppose Dot looked clean enough to go to Riceville?" worried
Meg, after the fashion of older sisters, as the grocery car shot up
the road and took the turn to the right. "Like as not they'll go to
the hotel and all the boarders will see her."
"She's all right," said Bobby carelessly, "Here's the spring lot, Meg.
See how muddy the path is."
The children had been following a narrow path that ran through the
grass at the side of the road and which would presently meet the
concrete walk that marked the beginning of the town. The "spring lot"
was a marshy piece of land that was full of springs which fed and
kept puddles of mud moist through the dryest season. To-day,
although everywhere else the dust was fine and white, the path along
the spring lot was oozy and soft.
"Who's coming?" said Meg, looking up the road suddenly. "Look, Bobby,
isn't that Tim Roon?"
Bobby glanced up from his favorite occupation of cracking stones.
"Yes, it is," he replied. "Wonder where he's going?"
His hands in his pockets, his cap on the back of his head, Tim Roon
came toward them, whistling loudly. When he was near enough to see the
two children, he stopped.
"Hello, smarties!" was his greeting. "How's teacher's pet?"
"I'm not teacher's pet," retorted Bobby indignantly.
"Nobody said you were," answered Tim Roon. "Can't a person speak to
your sister, without you taking it all on yourself?"
Bobby flushed angrily.
"You needn't speak to my sister unless you can talk right," he said
rapidly. "Come on, Meg, call Philip, and we'll go."
The dog was hunting in the marsh and came bounding out at Meg's first
call.
"Just a mutt." Tim Roon summed up poor Philip disagreeably. "You ought
to see the dog my father's got. What's your hurry, anyway? You can't
go till I'm ready to let you."
He stood directly in the path, on the only dry spot. If Meg or Bobby
tried to go around him, they must step into thick, black mud.
"Teacher's pet!" mocked Tim Roon, pointing a dirty forefinger at Meg.
"She didn't know she had to tell she whispered! But I notice you could
laugh at Charlie Black when he sat on the candy."
Meg did not see what that had to do with her whispering, and perhaps
Tim Roon couldn't have told either. He was merely doing his best to be
unkind and unpleasant, and succeeding as well as such ill-natured folk
usually do.
"You get out of the way, Tim Roon!" cried Bobby. "Go ahead, Meg, I'll
punch him if he touches you."
Tim was older and larger than Bobby, but the latter had no intention
of allowing him to annoy his sister.
Meg tried to push her way past the short, sturdy body of Tim, who
blocked her path. A quick twist of a vicious, sharp, little elbow
jostled her into the mud, and she stepped in over one of her low
shoes.
"You will, will you," snarled Bobby, angrier than he had ever been in
his life. "You just wait--knocking a girl like that!"
Tim squared off, as he had seen fighters in pictures do, and Bobby
lowered his head for a rush. But Philip, who had been an interested
spectator, decided that the time had come for him to be of use. With a
sharp bark, he lunged straight for Tim's legs, his sharp, even teeth
showing on either side of his red tongue. Tim saw him coming, jumped
to avoid him, lost his footing, and slipped. He fell into the thickest
part of the mud, his foot doubled under him.
"Run, Meg!" shouted Bobby, who wisely decided that it was the better
part of valor to take advantage of Tim's plight. "Come, Philip, run!
run!"
Pell-mell, the stones clattering in the bag Bobby still clutched,
Philip racing ahead and barking like a mad dog, the two children ran
down the road and did not stop till they reached the broad band of
cement walk where the east boundaries of Oak Hill were drawn.
Then they stopped and looked back, Philip panting and growling a
little as if he only wanted a word to go back and repeat his good
work.