“Tail-ender”
At six-thirty the next morning, six sleepy-eyed Brownies were at Miss
Gordon’s home, ready to drive to the cherry orchard.
Eileen was the last to arrive. Usually she did not arise until eight
o’clock and so felt a little cross.
“I don’t see why we have to get up so early,” she grumbled.
All the girls wore blue jeans instead of dresses, for Miss Gordon had
warned them that frocks might be ruined by fruit stains. The Brownie
leader had packed enough lunch for everyone, and had filled a thermos
jug with hot chocolate.
“All aboard for Pa Hooper’s orchard!” she called, herding the girls
into her car. “Time to get started if we’re to arrive there by seven
o’clock.”
During the ride to the orchard, the Brownies asked Veve and Connie
dozens of questions about the work they were to do. Everyone except
Eileen thought it would be great fun.
When Miss Gordon was less than a half mile from Pa Hooper’s place, her
car was passed by a truck. Mexican workers were leaning over the high
sideboards. Seeing the Brownies, they laughed and shouted, and waved
their hands.
“They must be pickers for the Wingate place,” Connie declared. She had
glimpsed Juan, the little Mexican boy, among the group.
A few minutes later, the Brownies saw the truck turn in at the orchard.
Miss Gordon drove her own car into Pa Hooper’s place. As the girls
tumbled out, they noticed only a few persons picking cherries some
distance from the packing shed.
“Well, you did come after all!” Pa Hooper exclaimed, walking over to
the group. “I need pickers. Ready to start in?”
“Oh, yes!” Veve agreed. “We want to earn a lot of money.”
The orchard owner laughed and said that would depend entirely upon how
steadily the girls kept at their picking.
“It’s easy the first hour,” he declared. “After that--well, we’ll see
how you hold up.”
Then and there the Brownies made up their minds that even though the
job was hard, they would not give up!
Mr. Hooper led the girls to a group of nearby trees. Each Brownie
received a pail and was shown exactly how to strip a branch.
“Pick clean and don’t bruise the fruit,” he instructed. “When your pail
is filled, weigh in at the shed.”
The orchard owner told the girls to strip only the lower tree branches.
He said he could not risk having them fall from the stepladders, and so
would leave the higher picking for older persons.
After Mr. Hooper had gone to the shed, the Brownies fell to work with
a will. At first the cherries thudded into the tin pails, making a
tinkling sound. Soon the bottoms of the buckets were covered.
“I have almost two inches of cherries in my pail!” Rosemary called
after a few minutes.
“Oh, I’m ahead of you,” laughed Jane, who was picking in the next tree.
Hearing the report, Veve began to strip at a faster rate, for she was
far behind. She had stopped too often to sample a cherry and to look
around.
Seeing a clump of especially large cherries directly overhead, the
little girl reached for them. Her hand touched something which was
dark-green in color and very slimy.
With a squeal of dismay, Veve pulled back. The pail of cherries nearly
dropped from her hand. But she managed to save it.
“O-oh, see this horrid creature on the tree!” she exclaimed. “Ugh! It
gives me the creeps.”
The other Brownies and Miss Gordon, who were picking close by, came
over to look.
“Why, it’s only a harmless little slug,” the Brownie Scout leader
laughed. “One frequently finds them amid the foliage.”
Miss Gordon plucked the leaf which the creature had been eating. Half
of the soft leaf tissue had been nibbled away, leaving ribs and veins
exposed.
“Orchard owners control slugs by spraying with arsenate of lead,” she
told the girls. “Somehow, this fellow escaped.”
“I don’t want to pick on this tree any more,” Veve said.
“’Fraid cat!” teased Sunny Davidson.
“I am not!” Veve denied. “I just don’t like slugs.”
The other girls laughed and told her she would have to stick to her own
tree.
Veve went back to work but she kept looking at the foliage before she
touched it. She did not see another slug.
When Mr. Hooper presently came to the orchard to see how the Brownies
were doing, Veve remarked that she thought the trees needed spraying.
“Why, bless you!” the orchard owner chuckled. “Already they’ve been
sprayed four times. I put on one early in the season to control scale
insects. Then I sprayed a second time just before the blossoms opened
up. Since then the trees have had two extra treatments.”
Veve was amazed that so much work was required to keep the orchard in
good condition.
“It’s a never-ending battle,” Mr. Hooper sighed. “One has to fight leaf
spot, brown rot and the fruit fly, to mention only a few troubles.”
After the orchard owner had returned to the shed, the Brownies picked
steadily for a while.
Then Rosemary shouted that her pail was filled. She was far ahead of
the other girls.
“My bucket is full too,” announced Miss Gordon. “Come, Rosemary, shall
we be the first to weigh in?”
Everyone began to pick very fast, not wanting to be a tail-ender.
Soon Connie was ready to have her fruit weighed. Jane’s pail next was
filled. Both girls were proud to have done so well.
After that, Eileen and Sunny finished their picking in rapid order.
“Veve’s the tail-ender!” teased Jane. She whirled around fast and her
jeans caught on a strand of wire attached to the fence.
As the little girl pulled away, she heard a tearing sound. A long
jagged hole had been torn in the leg of her almost-new jeans.
“Oh, now see what I’ve done!” she exclaimed. “My knee shows right
through!”
“That comes from picking so fast,” declared Veve. Actually, Jane had
not been stripping the tree at the moment of the accident.
Near tears, Jane hastened to the shed to show Miss Gordon the torn
place. Veve followed her, although her pail was not quite filled.
In the shed, Pa Hooper had just finished weighing in the cherries and
noting down the amount on cards.
When he saw Veve’s pail, he shook his head. “Only three-quarters
filled?” he asked. “Now, it’s a waste of time to weigh in less than a
full pail.”
“Mine will be full next time,” Veve assured him. She really meant it
too.
Miss Gordon told Jane she would sew up the tear in the jeans during the
lunch hour.
“I have a sewing kit in my car,” she said. “Also a first aid kit. But I
hope and trust we’ll not need the latter.”
“Will it soon be lunch time?” Rosemary asked. Already she was growing
hungry.
“Why, we’ve scarcely started to pick,” laughed Miss Gordon.
After Pa Hooper had weighed all the fruit, the Brownies returned to
their posts. Soon their arms began to ache from reaching up into the
branches. And as the sun rose higher and higher, they became very warm.
However, the Brownies were good sports and not afraid of hard work. No
one wanted to be the first to complain or quit, so they all kept on.
But everyone, even Miss Gordon, picked at a slower pace.
Veve became very thirsty. Now and then she would eat a cherry or two.
“No wonder you can’t keep up with the rest of us,” Connie scolded her.
“You stop so often to eat.”
Veve knew she deserved the lecture, for she found it hard to keep her
mind on work. She liked to watch the other pickers and to glance now
and then over into the Wingate orchard to see what was going on there.
By eleven-thirty the Brownies were so hungry they declared they were
nearly famished. They were certain they could not wait another minute
for lunch.
“We’ll weigh in and open up the hamper,” Miss Gordon decided. “My! I
wonder if I packed enough lunch?”
All of the Brownies except Veve quickly went to the shed to have their
cherries weighed.
“Coming, Veve?” asked Miss Gordon.
“In a minute,” the little girl answered. She did not have many cherries
in her pail and was ashamed to have either the Brownies or Mr. Hooper
see how poorly she had done.
While the others were in the shed, Veve picked as fast as she could.
Even so, her bucket was not half filled.
She was still working when the girls trooped out of the shed again.
“Do come along, Veve!” Miss Gordon called. “We’re having our lunch now.”
Veve climbed down from the stepladder and walked slowly toward the
shed. The Brownies already were at the car, removing the lunch hamper
and thermos jug. They planned to eat under a shady oak in the front
yard.
“Hurry up, slow-poke!” Jane shouted. “You won’t get anything to eat if
you don’t.”
Without going to the shed, Veve covered her pail with a handkerchief,
and joined her friends.
“Haven’t you weighed in your cherries?” Connie asked her as she helped
to spread a tablecloth under the oak tree.
“I’ll do it later,” Veve mumbled. She knew Pa Hooper would not accept a
half bucket of cherries. He had told her twice to fill the container to
the brim before bringing it in.
“It doesn’t matter how many cherries anyone picked,” said Miss Gordon
quickly. “The important thing is we’re doing useful work and earning
money for our troop.”
“How much have we earned already?” Eileen asked eagerly.
Miss Gordon said she had not kept accurate account, but she was certain
it amounted to several dollars.
The morning work had made the girls very hungry. Although the Brownie
leader had prepared two sandwiches for each person, it did not seem
enough. Veve bolted hers in a twinkling and so did Sunny. The
chocolate disappeared equally fast.
“Oh, dear, I’m still hungry,” moaned Sunny. “I could eat
anything--anything, that is, except cherries.”
Her remark made Veve think of a little joke. “What’s worse than biting
into a worm?” she asked the Brownies.
“What could be worse?” demanded Connie.
“Biting into half a worm!”
The Brownies did not laugh very hard at Veve’s joke. During the morning
picking, nearly everyone had bitten into at least one worm. It had not
been a pleasant experience.
“I’m so hungry, I could even go for a worm,” added Veve, just to make
the girls shudder. “Say, whose car is that?”
She had noticed a familiar blue sedan turning into the driveway.
“Why, that’s our car!” cried Connie, leaping to her feet. “It’s Mother!”
Now the Brownies were very surprised and pleased to see Mrs. Williams.
Eagerly, they swarmed about the car.
“Having fun?” Connie’s mother asked.
“Oh, yes!” the girls told her. They really were, too.
Connie had spied two large covered baskets on the back seat of the
automobile.
“What are in these?” she demanded.
“Oh, those!” smiled her mother. “I thought the girls might want a
little more lunch. I baked a cake and made potato salad. But if you’ve
already had too much, I can take them home.”
The Brownies all hooted in protest at such a proposal.
“You leave those baskets right here!” laughed Connie.
“I should say so!” echoed Eileen.
“I could eat an entire cake myself,” added Jane.
The Brownies carried the baskets to the big oak tree. There, upon the
tablecloth, they spread out an array of delicious looking food.
Besides cake and salad, Mrs. Williams also had brought cheese and
pickles.
Veve helped herself to a large piece of cake.
“I’m thirsty,” she announced when she had finished the last crumb.
The thermos bottles were empty. Veve thought she would try to find a
pump.
“There’s one back of the shed,” Miss Gordon told her. “The water,
though, tastes of mineral. You’ll find better water at the spring.”
“And where is that, Miss Gordon?”
“Only fifty feet from the entrance gate. Just follow the road.” The
Brownie leader pointed out the direction.
Not wishing the other girls to see the contents of her cherry pail,
Veve carried it with her.
After she had trudged a short distance along the dusty road, she found
the spring. A cool stream of water flowed out of a small pipe.
But someone was there ahead of Veve.
She saw at once that it was Juan, the little Mexican boy.
He had been washing his hands under the stream of water piped from the
hillside. One of them seemed to be scratched, for it was bleeding.
“Why, what’s the matter?” Veve asked anxiously.
Juan glanced up and grinned, his lips parting to show a double row of
even, white teeth.
“Nothing, _Senorita_,” he replied. His tone was most polite.
Veve felt quite grownup to be called a senorita, which she knew was a
Mexican word for “Miss.” It worried her, though, to see that Juan’s
hand had been deeply scratched and bruised.
“How did you hurt your hand?” she asked.
“Wingate.” Juan answered briefly.
Veve was horrified. “You mean he cut you?” she gasped.
“No, Senorita. He shoved me and I stumbled into the wire fence.”
“Oh, Juan! How could he be so mean?”
The Mexican boy shrugged his thin shoulders. “Wingate has an evil
temper. He treats all of his pickers mean--but he hates me worse than
the others. Often he beats me.”
“I know! I saw him strike you with a stick only yesterday. Why do you
work for him?”
“The pickers have a contract,” Juan explained. But he added darkly, “We
may break it. _Si!_ If we leave before the fruit is harvested, then he
will be sorry!”
“I should think so,” agreed Veve soberly. “Juan, wait here! I am going
to get Miss Gordon’s first aid kit and wrap up your hand.”
She ran to the car for the materials she needed--cotton, gauze, iodine
and tape. Returning to the spring, she dressed the cut as Miss Gordon
had shown the Brownies how to do, and taped on the bandage.
The finished job did not look too neat, but Juan said it was fine and
made his hand feel better. He seemed very grateful.
“How do you like stripping cherries?” he inquired. “Does the orchard
owner beat you if you damage the fruit?”
“Oh, no! Mr. Hooper is very nice. All the Brownies like him.”
Juan had glanced at Veve’s nearly empty pail. “How many pounds a day
can you pick?” he asked.
“I’ve filled my bucket almost three times this morning.”
Juan did not say anything, but from the way he smiled, Veve knew he did
not think she had picked very many cherries.
“Here,” he said, a moment later.
Before Veve could prevent it, he picked up his own filled bucket and
dumped cherries into hers until it was ready to overflow.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have done that!” she exclaimed. “Mr Wingate won’t
like it.”
“Who cares for that old goat?” scoffed Juan. “He has no friends.
Hooper, his own relative, dislikes him--and for good reason too. _Si!_”
“Are Hooper and Wingate relatives?” Veve asked in astonishment.
Before Juan could answer, he heard his name angrily called. Mr. Wingate
stood at the entrance to the orchard, gazing toward the spring.
“You, Juan!” he shouted. “Stop loafing, and get back to work!”
“_Si, Senor_,” the little Mexican boy muttered. Picking up his nearly
empty pail, he smiled again at Veve, and ambled up the road.
Back at the Hooper orchard, the Brownies had finished their lunch and
were ready to resume their picking.
“Where’s Veve?” Jane demanded impatiently. “She’s always late. She
hasn’t even weighed in her last picking.”
“That’s because she didn’t have enough cherries to turn in,” said
Eileen.
Veve came up to the oak tree just in time to hear the last remark.
“Who says I haven’t any cherries?” she demanded, offering her pail in
proof. “Full to the brim!”
The Brownies were amazed. They had been so certain that Veve’s bucket
was nearly empty.
“How did you get so many cherries so quickly?”
Connie asked suspiciously. “When I last saw your pail--”
“Oh, I’m a fast picker,” laughed Veve. Then, because she knew a Brownie
had to be honest, she added: “Well, maybe I had some help!”
The girls plied her with questions. Finally, after she had tantalized
them, Veve told about her meeting with the Mexican boy.
“One can’t blame the Mexican pickers for thinking of leaving if
they are mistreated,” remarked Miss Gordon when she heard Juan’s
conversation repeated. “However, I hope they don’t. If the pickers
should go away from the area before the fruit is marketed, it would be
most serious for all of the orchard owners.”
The Brownies now were well fed, rested, and ready to return to their
work. Connie’s mother was sorry she had not worn old clothes so that
she too might help.
“Perhaps I’ll come again tomorrow,” she declared. “That is, if it
doesn’t rain.”
The sky had become slightly overcast. Although it did not look as if it
would rain very soon, a storm appeared in the offing.
While the other Brownies returned to their trees, Veve went to the shed
to have her cherries weighed.
“You did very well,” Pa Hooper praised as he marked the poundage on her
card. “Guess you’re finally getting the trick of it.”
Veve flushed and decided then and there that during the afternoon she
would keep her mind on her work.
“Oh, Mr. Hooper,” she said suddenly. “Is Carl Wingate any relation to
you?”
The orchard owner nearly dropped the lug of fruit he was carrying out
to load into a truck.
“What made you ask that?” he demanded. He did not seem very pleased by
the question.
“I just wondered.”
“Someone put you up to it! Carl Wingate is my cousin. Now get back to
your picking and don’t be pestering me with questions.”
Pa Hooper spoke almost crossly. Veve could not understand why her
question had annoyed him. She remembered though, that Juan had said
something about the orchard owner disliking Carl Wingate.
She meant to learn more about it before the Brownies were through
with the cherry picking. However, she would have to bide her time.
Pa Hooper, she could plainly see, had no intention of revealing any
secrets.