WHAT'S IN A NAME?
"Well, here he comes," announced Maxwell Lane. With his hands in his
pockets he was standing by a window which commanded a view of the gateway
and approach to the house. "He 'phoned me this morning he'd be
out--loaded for bear. I'll wager if he has one treatise on farming in
that cutter he has forty."
Sally ran to look. "I don't see anything unusual," said she, her eyes on
the trim sleigh drawn by a pair of fine grays, the driver waving an arm
at the window as he caught sight of the faces thereat. "Expect to see
horse-hoes and threshing machines sticking out from under his furs?
Jolly!--that's a magnificent fox-skin robe he has over his knees. Looks
like a farmer, doesn't he, now? Think a fellow in a silk-lined overcoat
and driving-gloves like those knows anything about farming?--Or ever can
know?" he added skeptically.
"I don't see why not. There's nothing about a silk-lined overcoat to
prevent." Sally's tone was spirited. She thrust her hands into the
pockets of the small ruffled apron she wore, and her elbows assumed an
argumentative air. The black ribbon which tied her lengthening curly
locks into a knot upon her head seemed to acquire a defiant effect.
Evidently she was prepared to take sides in this matter. "If rich men's
sons can learn railroading and mining and every other kind of business
that soils their hands, I don't know what's to prevent one of them from
learning farming."
"Oh, he'll get hold of a tremendous amount of book wisdom--I'm prepared
for that," admitted Max. "But it takes a practical man to be a farmer.
He'll want to use up a lot of money in experiments, of course--"
But Sally had disappeared into the hall, and was throwing open the front
door. The sleigh, however, was going on past the house to the barn. "That
means he intends to stay," reflected the girl and ran back to the kitchen
for a few hurried words with Mary Ann Flinders. It was not the habit of
the house materially to change any plans for the table on account of
unexpected arrivals, but there were certain dishes Jarvis was known to
enjoy so much that Sally liked to confront him with at least one of them,
when she could.
"Make some of the apple-fry to go with the baked beans, please, Mary,"
she directed. "And be sure to put in plenty of sugar so it will get brown
and candied, the way we like it. Use the Baldwin apples, and leave the
red skins on the slices--that makes it look prettiest."
She peeped into the small kitchen mirror as she went by, the mirror whose
presence was designed to point out to Mary Ann that her rough red locks
might now and then need smoothing. Sally's own hair was the source of
considerable bother at present, it having reached that stage, in its
growth since her fever, when it was neither short nor long, and called
for much skill in arrangement. She tucked in a stray curl or two, gave a
perk to the black bow, stood on her tip-toes to make sure that the silk
knot which fastened her sailor collar was in trim shape, and felt of the
crisp strings which tied her decidedly coquettish apron, to ascertain
that that bow was also snug. Then she looked round at Mary Ann, and
caught that young person eyeing her slyly, but with great admiration.
Sally laughed, and Mary Ann giggled. Then the latter glanced
significantly out of the kitchen window toward the barn, whence a tall
figure was issuing with its arms full of books and magazines.
"I guess I'd know, Miss Sally," ventured Mary Ann, "who was comin' if I
didn't see for myself. Apple-fry, an' you primpin' up like that when you
don't need it at all, bein' always tidy--"
"Mary, I'm surprised at you," said Sally severely, and walked out of
the kitchen with her head up. But she had laughed, and Mary Ann was
not afraid.
"Ridiculous!" said Sally to herself, in the hall. "I shall never look in
that kitchen glass again, when anybody is here. As if I ever did any
special 'primpin'' for an old friend like Jarvis! Girls like that are
always thinking silly things." And she walked on to the hall door, of
half a mind not to open it after all, lest Jarvis himself think his
welcome too eager. Yet, as she always did open it for him, or for any
other of their special friends whom she chanced to see approaching, she
promptly discarded this line of conduct as absurd, and threw the door
wide with the hospitable sweep to which he was so accustomed that he
would have been surprised and puzzled at its absence.
He looked at her over his armful of books, his face red with the sting of
the sharp January air, his eyes keen through the eye-glasses astride his
nose. Goggles were now a thing of the past, but the eyeglasses, their
lenses thick with the combination of formulae which had ruled their
grinding, were a permanent necessity. It was the first time Sally had
seen him since he had acquired them.
"Very becoming," she said, critically, as he put down the books on the
hall table, pulled off the handsome driving-gloves which, according to
Max, helped to disqualify him for his present ambitions, and shook hands
with heartiness. "You no longer look pathetic, but distinguished--even
scientific."
"'Scientific' is the word, if you want to flatter me," he declared,
throwing off his overcoat and gathering up the books again. "I'm
acquiring agricultural science by the peck measure--chock full and
running over. I've reached the point where I must get rid of some of it
upon my partners or suffer serious consequences. Max here? Was it he at
the window? I can't see more than a rod through these things yet--not
used to them."
"Yes, he's here. He always spends his Saturday half-holiday at home now.
The rest are away. Alec and Bob are off on the hill by the timber lot,
trying Mr. Ferry's toboggan with him--it's just come. Uncle Tim has gone
over to see how they're making it go."
"Glad the coast is clear. It might embarrass me to set forth my schemes
to more than two at once."
Sally led the way to the living-room--in old times the "drawing-room,"
but now deserving the less imposing title after a fashion which made it
the most homelike of apartments. It was the only room on the lower
floor--except the dining-room and kitchen--which the Lanes had attempted
to furnish for the winter, so the rugs and chairs, tables and couch, of
the little flat had been all that was necessary to make it habitable and
pleasant. A brisk fire burned on the wide hearth, of itself a furnishing
without which many a sumptuous room may seem cheerless and in-hospitable.
The walls were covered with a quaint old paper of white, with gold
stripes about which green ivy leaves wound conventionally. This might
have given the room a cold aspect, but Sally had hung curtains of
Turkey-red print at the windows, and had covered the couch and its
pillows with the same warm-coloured fabric, with a result so pleasing to
the eye that visitors, at the first sight, were wont to exclaim: "Who
would think you could have made this big room look so homelike? How have
you done it?"
"Thirty-two yards of Turkey-red," was Sally's customary demure answer,
and the visitor, if a woman, was sure to respond, "Oh, yes, of course.
Such a lovely idea for winter." If a man, he was more apt merely to stare
at Sally, with real respect for the feminine comprehension of the
influence of a hue upon a general effect, not understanding the matter
himself, but dimly comprehending that the result had been accomplished
and the room made to look like a refuge from the bitterest storms which
might sweep outside.
"Well, primed to the muzzle?" was Max's greeting. He had not taken the
trouble to go to the hall to welcome the guest, but had thrown himself
among the red pillows, facing the fire. The wide couch stood always in
comfortable proximity to the hearth, and was a favourite resort for the
entire household. Not unadvisedly had Sally covered the eight pillows
with the strong red fabric. It could withstand the wear and tear of
pillow fights and of use as seats upon the floor before the fire better
than almost any material that could be found at the price.
"Look at the titles of these, and see if I haven't a right to be primed.
Mother and Jo have taken turns reading to me for a week--they too are
possessed of an extraordinary amount of miscellaneous information."
"Miscellaneous--that's undoubtedly the word. It will be a long day before
any of us have any classified and usable knowledge to work with."
With a critical eye Max scanned the titles of the books as Jarvis set
them forth in an impressive row upon the old mahogany table where the
reading lamp stood, surrounded by books, magazines, and papers, in
generous quantity.
"Strawberries--Market Gardening--Analyses of the
Soil--Bacteria--Nitrogen--Drainage--Agricultural Implements--Increasing
the Fertility of the Land--and so forth--and so forth," Max murmured, as
his eye ran hurriedly along the subjects represented. "Well, you've
certainly gone in deep."
"Nearly submerged, at times. But I think I've got my head out of water
now, and have evolved a scheme that will do to begin on--with your
approval. I wish you'd go at the reading of these--some of them,
anyhow. I've marked what seemed to be the most important. You can do it
while I'm away. I'm planning to take a trip around to the best farms I
can hear of, and have a series of talks with the owners. I shall end up
with a scientific experiment station, for by that time I ought to have
some working knowledge to build on, and can understand what I'm trying
to get at."
From among his pillows Max gazed at his friend. Saturday afternoon was
always a time of relaxation for the bank clerk, when he could get through
with his work and hurry home. He did not as yet feel a particle of
enthusiasm over the farming plans, and it was difficult for him to
comprehend Jarvis's interest. But he had ceased to oppose the project,
except by comments skeptical to a degree. Jarvis was to assume the risk
of all expensive experiments during the first two seasons, and Max was
not to leave the bank, so there was everything to be gained and nothing
to be lost by giving the experimenter a free hand.
Jarvis was sitting bolt upright by the table, his shoulders back, his
head up, energy in every outline. Sally, studying him, and remembering
his long exile from all active labour while his eyes were recovering from
their misuse at college, silently rejoiced in his appearance of vigour.
Just now, as he spoke of his plans, he seemed especially full of life and
determination, and the contrast between the two young men was one which
made the girl wonder rather anxiously if they could really become
partners in this new enterprise.
"When will you go?" Max inquired. "Wish I weren't tied to a desk. I'd go
too--for the trip."
"I wish you could. You'd enjoy not only the trip but the interviews. I'd
guarantee your interest before we'd made half our rounds."
"Any idea what you'll make the chief crop?" Max inquired, his eyes again
wandering over the titles of the books.
"Strawberries," his prospective partner responded, at once.
"Strawberries! Expect to make a living off those?"
"Strawberries!"--This was Sally, in a tone of delight. "Lovely! I'll
help pick. Can we have them next June? Oughtn't we to have sowed them
last fall?"
A roar from the young man on the couch, and an irrepressible broad smile
on the face of the one by the table, made Sally colour with chagrin. "I
suppose I've said something awful?" she queried.
"Max and I'll make worse blunders than that before we are through,"
Jarvis consoled her, while Max, chuckling, attempted to instruct his
sister and prove that after all he did know a thing or two about farming.
"You don't sow strawberries for a crop," he explained, wisely, "you set
out plants. And you don't get a crop the first year, either--eh, Jarve?
So Sally needn't begin to make a sun-bonnet to wear picking berries
next June."
"Nor the second June, either, perhaps," admitted Jarvis, reluctantly.
"To get the best results we shouldn't use land that's just been ploughed
where there's been only sod for years. We ought to plant potatoes or
cabbages the first year, to get the ground in shape. Then it'll need a
lot of fertilizing after that. We have to get rid of the grubs in the
old sod--"
"Grubs!" Max sat upright with a jerk. "There you are, at the first drop
of the hat. Grubs--pests--not only after you get your plants out but two
seasons beforehand."
He eyed his friend, as if he had presented a conclusive argument against
strawberry raising. But Jarvis only laughed good-humouredly.
"That's part of the game," said he. "Meanwhile, there are some quick
crops we ought to be able to market the first year. But, after talking
with several city dealers and commission men, I'm confident it will pay
us to go about strawberry culture with the most careful preparation we
can make. Some cities are surrounded by strawberry gardeners, but there's
almost nobody in that business around here. No reason why not--soil and
climate all right enough--so it seems to me it's our chance. The city
gets most of its 'home-grown' strawberries from a hundred miles away,
which means that they can't be marketed as fresh as ours can be. I
propose to build up a demand for absolutely fresh berries, picked at dawn
and marketed before the dew is off, strictly fine to the bottom of the
full-sized basket. Several grades, but our reputation on the big ones, of
course. There's no reason why we can't do it--"
But he had gone as far as could have been expected without an ironic
comment from Max. "Oh, it's all clear as daylight!" that young man
agreed. "Even the grubs that infest the soil now will take to the woods
when they hear of the onslaught that's coming. We've only to set out the
plants, sit on the fence till the gigantic berries are ripe, than haul in
the nets. No May freezes, no droughts, no--"
"You _are_ a pessimist, aren't you?" Jarvis broke in. "I know of only one
thing that will ever work a reformation in you--and that's a summer's
work in the open air."
"Pessimist, am I? Well--"
It was Sally who interrupted, this time. During Jarvis's explanation of
his plan she had been absorbed in the contemplation of a new idea. She
proceeded to launch it against the tide of Max's retort, and her
enthusiastic shriek overbore his deeper-toned growl. "I've a name for
this place!" she cried, clapping her hands. "A name! I've tried and
tried to think of one, you know, Jarvis, and nothing has suited. Uncle
Maxwell never named it anything. Uncle Timothy thinks '_The Pines_'
would be a good name but I'm sure there are hundreds of country places
called '_The Pines_.' Alec says '_Woodlands_,' and Bob votes for
'_Farview_'--though there's no far view at all till you get up to the
hill by the timber lot. But now--I have the name!"
She spoke impressively, and they both looked at her, waiting for the
revelation about to fall from her lips. She did not keep them
waiting long.
"'_Strawberry Acres_.'"
Silence ensued. Sally looked from one to the other. Max began to laugh.
"Better call it '_Prospective Strawberry Acres_'" said he.
"It's certainly an original name," mused Jarvis. "Not a high-sounding
one, certainly. But you don't want a high-sounding name--for a farm."
"It's a nice, colourful name," argued Sally.
"'Colourful!'--Now, by all that's eccentric, what's a colourful name?"
demanded Jarvis, laughing.
"Think of strawberries among the green leaves, in the sun--Jarvis, let's
have green leaves on all the baskets!--and think of crushed strawberries,
and the beautiful, rich, red juice. It's a nice, rich name, just as my
Turkey-red curtains make a warm, homey-looking room."
Jarvis shook his head. "These are mysteries too deep for my imagination,"
he owned. "But you can call it '_Pumpkin Hollow_,' if you like--that's a
colourful name, too, I should judge--a fine natural yellow."
"Oh," Sally exclaimed, "we must raise pumpkins, among the corn--of course
we'll have corn. Pumpkins lying about among shocks of corn in the fall
sunshine make the most delightful picture."
Max lay back among his pillows, apparently overcome with emotion. "Oh,
you're a practical person for a farmer's housekeeper!" he jeered. "Your
one idea will be to have the crops look pretty in the sunshine. You'll be
tying ribbons on the strawberry baskets to match the fruit."
Sally nodded. "Maybe I shall," she acknowledged. "Anyhow, I know people
buy the things that are most artfully put up."
A loud bang of the front door made her pause to listen. Hurried footsteps
clattering through the hall prepared the party for the bursting open of
the door. Bob, his cheeks like winter apples, his boots crusted with
snow, shouted at the company:
"Oh, pull yourselves loose from this stuffy fire and come up on the
hill. Mr. Ferry's toboggan goes like lightning express from the top of
the hill clear down to the big elm in the middle of the south meadow.
He's a dandy at it. I can't steer the thing yet, at all, but he'll teach
me. Put on your duds and come on--he sent me for you."
Max settled himself more reposefully than ever among his pillows. "Go
'way," he commanded. "My half-holidays are not for work."
But Sally sprang to her feet, seeing which Jarvis got promptly to his.
"Sorry we haven't blanket tobogganing suits, Bob," said Jarvis, "but we
can try it in derby hats and kid gloves. I'm ready."
Sally rushed away to array herself in a miscellaneous costume composed of
Max's gray sweater-jacket, Bob's crimson skating cap, Uncle Timothy's
white muffler, and a short, rainy-day skirt of her own. The others eyed
her approvingly as she rejoined them, the crimson cap on her blonde curls
proving most picturesque. Out of doors the colour in her cheeks, stung by
the frosty air, presently brought them to match the cap. By the time the
three reached the hill they looked as ready for sport as Donald Ferry
himself. That young man, in a regulation toboggan suit of gray blanket
cloth, with a cap of the same, looked like a jolly boy as he brought the
toboggan into place with a flourish and invited his guests to "pile on."
It was glorious fun. Certainly Ferry was an accomplished tobogganist,
for he steered with great skill over a somewhat complicated course,
including excursions between trees set rather closely together, over
hummocks and through erratic dips, at a pace which quite took his
passengers' breath away.
"It's the best fun I ever had in my life," cried Sally, as they climbed
the hill for the third time. "What a shame for Max not to come."
"We'll have him out next time. To taste tobogganing is to become an
enthusiast," declared Ferry, walking at one side of the crimson cap,
while Jarvis kept close upon the other. Alec and Bob were doing tricks in
the snow all the way up the hill, to the amusement of Uncle Timothy Rudd,
who watched interestedly from the top, but could not be prevailed upon to
try a journey.
Suddenly Sally looked down toward the house. She shielded her eyes
with one hand.
"There's Mary Ann Flinders, watching at the kitchen window," she
exclaimed. "Poor child, how she must envy us!" She stopped short and
looked at the toboggan's owner. "Why can't we ask her up for a little
while, Mr. Ferry?" she suggested. "You wouldn't mind, would you?"
"Not in the least. Shall I go for her?"
"I'll go. Please don't come." And Sally was off like the wind, down over
the path which much tramping had made through the snow. Jarvis and Ferry
looked at one another and smiled.
"Do you know another girl in the world who would have thought of doing
that?" asked Jarvis, with amusement.
"Not many, out of those who happened to have devoted cavaliers beside
them, certainly," admitted the other young man, looking after the rapid
transit of the crimson cap across the snowy fields. "But Miss Sally is a
law unto herself--and the unexpected is the thing one may expect from her
every time. Yet she's not capricious purely for the sake of being
capricious, like so many girls. She can be counted on--at the same time
that one doesn't know exactly where to find her." He laughed. "There's a
paradox for you."
"Counted on to do the thing you're glad afterward she has done,"
supplemented Sally's old friend.
If Sally could have heard them, her small ears--burning with the
transition from cold air to warm, as in the kitchen she hurriedly forced
Mary Ann, protesting with feeble giggles, into whatsoever garments could
be adapted to the purpose--would have burned even more fiercely. But it
is quite safe to say that she had no thought whatever of the effect her
impulsive little act might have upon anybody--except Mary Ann herself.