The Box-Car Children
"Almost a gift from heaven," said Violet, stroking one of the eggs with
a delicate finger. "It wouldn't be polite to refuse them."
Scrambled eggs made a delicious supper for the children. Jess broke all
the eggs into the biggest bowl and beat them vigorously with a spoon
until they were light and foamy. Then she added milk and salt and
delegated Violet to beat them some more while she prepared the fire. The
big kettle, empty and clean, was hung over the low fire and butter was
dropped in. Jess watched it anxiously, tipping the kettle slightly in
all directions. When the butter had reached the exact shade of brown,
Jess poured in the eggs and stirred them carefully, holding her skirts
away from the fire. She was amply repaid for her care when she saw her
family attack the meal. Clearly this was a feast day.
"We shall have to be satisfied tomorrow to live on bread and milk," she
observed, scraping up the last delicious morsel.
But when tomorrow came they had more than bread and milk, as you will
soon see.
CHERRY PICKING
Henry meditated awhile all to himself early the next morning as to
whether he ought to take any one with him for the cherry picking. "He
certainly said he could use more than one," he mused.
Failing to decide the question, he laid it before his sisters as they
ate bread and milk for breakfast.
"I can't see any reason, except one, why we shouldn't all go," said
Jess.
"What's that?" asked Henry.
"Well, you see there are four of us, and supposing grandfather is
looking for us, it will be easier to find four than one."
"True," agreed Henry. "But supposing we went down the hill and through
the streets two by two? And you took Watch?"
It was finally agreed that Henry and Benny would attract very little
attention together; Violet and Jess would follow with the dog, who would
trace Henry. And so they set out. They took down the clothesline and
closed the car door. Everything instantly looked as lonesome as heart
could wish. Even the merry little brook looked deserted.
When the children arrived at the McAllister orchard they soon saw that
they were not the only workers. Two hired men and the young doctor
himself were carrying ladders and baskets from the barn, and the Irish
cook was bringing piles of square baskets from the house--the kind that
strawberries are sold in.
"The girls can pick cherries as well as I can," said Henry, introducing
his sisters. "Benny ought not to climb very tall trees, but we had to
bring him."
"Benny can carry the baskets, perhaps," suggested the doctor, much
amused. "You see, this is a cherry year, and we have to work quickly
when we once begin. Perhaps he could fill the small baskets from the big
ones."
It was a "cherry year," certainly. There were two varieties in the
orchard, the pale yellow kind with a red cheek, and the deep crimson
ones which were just as red in the center as they were on the outside.
The red ones were huge, bursting with juice, and the trees were laden
full with the luscious fruit. Even the air was perfumed.
It was a pretty sight that the doctor finally turned his back upon when
he went on his calls. Henry, slim, tanned, and graceful, picked rapidly
from the tallest ladder in the largest tree. The two girls in their
sensible bloomer suits could climb like cats. They leaned against the
ladders easily about halfway up, their fluffy short hair gleaming in the
sun. Benny trotted to and fro, waiting upon the busy pickers, his cheeks
as red as the cherries themselves.
"Eat all you want," Dr. McAllister called back. They did not really obey
this command, but occasionally a set of white teeth bit into one of the
glorious oxhearts.
In less than an hour Benny had made five firm friends. The hired men
joked with him, the cook petted him, the young doctor laughed at him
delightedly, and sweet Mrs. McAllister fell in love with him. Finally he
seated himself comfortably at her side under the trees and filled square
boxes with great care under her direction.
"I never had such a cheerful crowd of cherry pickers before," Mrs.
McAllister said at last. "I'd much rather stay out here than go into the
house where it is cool."
Evidently Mary the cook felt the same way, for she kept coming to the
orchard for some reason or other. When the doctor returned at lunch time
his orchard was ringing with laughter, and good-natured barks from Watch
who could not feel easy in his mind with his mistress so high up in a
tree where he couldn't follow.
Dr. McAllister paused in the garage long enough to give a sniff to the
boiling cherries in the kitchen, and then made his way to the orchard,
where he received a warm welcome.
"There's no use in your going home to lunch," he smilingly observed, at
the same time watching Henry's face carefully. "You can eat right here
in the orchard, unless your mother will be worrying about you."
This remark met with an astounding silence. Henry was the first to
collect his wits. "No, our mother is dead," he said evenly, without
embarrassment.
It was the doctor who hastened to change the subject he had introduced.
"I smelled something when I came in," he said to Benny.
"What did it smell like?" inquired Benny.
"It smelled like cherry slump," replied the doctor with twinkling eyes.
"Cherry _what_?" asked Jess, struggling down her ladder with a full
basket.
"I think that's what they call it--slump," repeated Dr. McAllister. "Do
you care to try it?"
At this moment Mary appeared in the orchard with an enormous tray. And
at the first sight of her cookery, nobody cared the least what its name
was. It was that rare combination of dumpling beaten with stoned
cherries, and cooked gently in the juice of the oxheart cherries in a
real "cherry year." It was steaming in the red juice, with the least
suspicion of melted butter over the whole.
"Do get two more, Mary," begged Mrs. McAllister, laughing. "It tastes so
much better under the cherry trees!"
This was another meal that nobody ever forgot. Even the two hired men
sitting under another tree devouring the delicious pudding, paused to
hear Benny laugh. Nowadays those two men sometimes meet Henry--but
that's another story. Anyway, they never will forget that cherry slump
made by Irish Mary.
Almost as soon as lunch was over Benny rolled over on the grass and went
to sleep, his head, as usual, on the dog's back. But the others worked
on steadily. Mrs. McAllister kept an eye on them from the screened porch
without their knowledge.
"Just see how those children keep at it," she said to her son. "There is
good stuff in them. I should like to know where they come from."
Dr. McAllister said nothing. He sauntered out into the orchard when he
thought they had worked long enough. He paid them four dollars and gave
them all the cherries they could carry, although they tried to object.
"You see, you're better than most pickers, because you're so cheerful."
He noticed that they did not all leave the yard at the same time.
When the cherry pickers returned to their little home they examined
everything carefully. Nothing had been disturbed. The door was still
shut, and the milk and butter stood untouched in the refrigerator. They
made a hilarious meal of raw cherries and bread and butter, and before
the stars came out they were fast asleep--happy and dreamless.
That evening, very much later, a young man sat in his study with the
evening paper. He read the news idly, and was just on the point of
tossing the paper aside when this advertisement caught his eye:
Lost. Four children, aged thirteen, twelve, ten and five. Somewhere
around the region of Middlesex and Townsend. $5000 reward for
information.
JAMES HENRY CORDYCE
"Whew!" whistled the young man. "James Henry Cordyce!"
He sat in perfect silence for a long time, thinking. Then he went to
bed. But long after he had gone upstairs he whistled again, and could
have been heard to say-if anyone had been awake to hear it--"James Henry
Cordyce! Of all people!"
THE RACE
The Cordyce Steel Mills stood a little aside from the city of
Greenfield, as if they were a little too good to associate with common
factories. James Henry Cordyce sat in a huge leather chair in his
private office. He was a man nearly sixty years of age whose dark brown
hair was still untouched by gray. He had rather hard lines around his
mouth, but softer ones around his eyes. Printed on the ground-glass top
of his door were these words in black and gold:
J. H. CORDYCE--President
_Private_
Once a year J. H. Cordyce allowed himself a holiday. If he had a
weakness, it was for healthy boys--boys running without their hats, boys
jumping, boys throwing rings, boys swimming, boys vaulting with a long
pole. And in company with three other extremely rich men he arranged,
once a year, a Field Day for the town of Intervale. The men attended it
in person, and supplied all the money. This was Field Day.
All through the spring and early summer months, boys were in training
for miles around, getting ready for Intervale's Field Day. And not only
boys, but men also, old and young, and girls of all ages into the
bargain. Prizes were offered for tennis, baseball, rowing, swimming,
running, and every imaginable type of athletic feat. But usually the
interest of the day centered on a free-for-all race of one mile, which
everyone enjoyed, and a great many people entered. A prize of
twenty-five dollars was offered to the winner of this race, and also a
silver trophy cup with little wings on its handles. Sometimes this cup
was won by a middle-aged man, sometimes by a girl, and sometimes by a
trained athlete. Mr. Cordyce smiled about his eyes as he closed his
desk, ordered his limousine, and went out and locked the door of his
office. The mill had been closed down for the day. Everyone attended
Field Day.
Henry was washing the concrete drives at Dr. McAllister's at this
moment. He heard the doctor call to him from the road, so he promptly
turned off the hose and ran out to see what was wanted.
"Hop in," commanded the doctor, not stopping his engine. "You ought to
go to see the stunts at the athletic meet. It's Field Day."
Henry did not wish to delay the doctor, so he "hopped in."
"Can't go myself," said Dr. McAllister. "I'll just drop you at the
grounds. There's no charge for admittance. You just watch all the events
and report to me who wins."
Henry tried to explain to his friend that he ought to be working, but
there was actually no time. And when he found himself seated on the
bleachers and the stunts began, he forgot everything in the world except
the exciting events before his eyes.
Henry had no pencil, but he had an excellent memory. He repeated over
and over, the name of each winner as it appeared on the huge signboard.
It was nearly eleven o'clock when the free-for-all running race was
announced.
"What do they mean--free-for-all?" asked Henry of a small boy at his
side.
"Why, just anybody," explained the boy, curiously. "Didn't you ever see
one? Didn't you see the one last year?"
"No," said Henry.
The boy laughed. "That was a funny one," he said. "There was a college
runner in it, and a couple of fat men, and some girls--lots of people.
And the little colored boy over there won it. You just ought to have
seen that boy run! He went so fast you couldn't see his legs. Beat the
college runner, you know."
Henry gazed at the winner of last year's race. He was smaller than
Henry, but apparently older. In a few minutes Henry had quietly left his
place on the bleachers. When the boy turned to speak to him again, he
was gone.
He had gone, in fact, to the dressing room, where boys of all sizes were
putting on sandals and running trunks.