“Oh, mercy!” cried Harry, “those people are so mean about their garden, they’ll have Tom arrested if there’s any corn broken.”
Of course it was impossible for a runaway horse to go through a field of corn and do no damage, and Tom realized this too. By this time the dogs were out barking furiously, and altogether there was wild excitement. At one end of the field there was a high board fence.
“If I could only get him there he would have to stop,” thought Tom, and suddenly he gave Sable a jerk in that direction.
“Drop off, Tom, drop off!” yelled the boys. “He’ll throw you against the fence!”
But at that minute the little horse threw himself against the boards in such a way that Tom slid off, yet held tightly to the reins.
The horse fell, quite exhausted.
As quickly as they could get there the boys came up to help Tom.
“Hurry!” said Harry, “there is scarcely any corn broken, and we can get away before the Trimbles see us. They’re away back in the fields planting late cabbage.”
Tom felt hardly able to walk, but he limped along while Harry led Sable carefully between the cornhills. It was only a few feet to the edge of the field, and then they were all safe on the road again.
“Are you hurt?” the boys asked Tom, when finally they had a chance to speak about the runaway.
“I feel as if I had dropped from a balloon onto a lot of cobblestones,” Tom answered, “but I guess that’s only the shaking up I got. That pony certainly can go.”
“Yes indeed,” Harry admitted; “I guess he doesn’t like the smell of sulphur matches. Lucky he was not injured with that fall against the fence.”
“I found I had to throw him,” Tom said, “and I thought the fence was softer than a tree.”
“I suppose we ought to make him run until he is played out,” said Bert, “That’s the way to cure a horse of running away.”
But none of the boys felt like risking their bones even to cure Sable, so the panting animal was led to the stable and for the rest of the day allowed to think over his bad conduct.
But that was not the last of the runaway, for in the evening just after supper old Mr. Trimble paid a visit to Tom’s father.
“I came over to tell you what a scallywag of a boy you’ve got,” began the cross old man. “He and a lot of young loafers took a horse and drove him all through my cornfield today, and now you’ve got to pay the damages.”
“My son is not a scallywag,” Mr. Mason declared, “and if you call him names like loafer and scallywag I’ll make you pay damages.”
“Oh! you will, eh?” the other sneered. “Think I’m afraid of an old constable up here, do you?”
“Well now, see here,” Mr. Mason said, “Be reasonable and do not quarrel over an accident. If any corn is knocked down I’ll get Tom to fix it up, if it’s broken down we will see what it would cost to replace it. But the boys did not do it purposely, and it was worse for Tom than anyone else, for he’s all black and blue from the hard knocks he got.”
At this the cross man quieted down and said, Well, he would see about it. Mr. Trimble was one of those people who believe all a boy is good for is doing mischief and all a boy deserves is scolding or beating. Perhaps this was because he had no sons of his own and therefore had no regard for the sons of other people.
Mr. Mason went directly to the cornfield with his neighbor. He looked carefully over every hill, and with a spade and hoe he was able to put back into place the few stalks that had been knocked down in Sable’s flight.
“There now,” said Mr. Mason, “I guess that corn is as good as ever. If it wants any more hoeing Tom will come around in the morning and do it. He is too stiff to move tonight.”
So that ended the runaway, except for a very lame boy, Tom Mason, who had to limp around for a day or two from stiffness.
“How would you like to be a jockey!” laughed his companions. “You held on like a champion, but you were not in training for the banging you got.”
“Well, I guess Sable will make a fine racehorse,” said Tom, “when he’s broken. But it will take someone stronger than I am to break him in.”
The next afternoon all the boys went fishing. They had been out quite late the night before to find the “night walkers” for bait, as those little worms only come out of the ground after dark. Bert had a new line his father brought from Lakeport, and the others boys had nets and hooks, as most country boys who live near streams are always fond of fishing.
“Let’s go over to the cove,” Harry said when they all started off. “There’s lots of good fish in that dark corner.”
So the cove was chosen as a good spot to fish from, and soon the Bobbsey boys and their friends were lying around the edge of the deep clear stream, waiting for a bite.
Bert was the first to jerk his line, and he brought it up with such force that the chubfish on his hook slapped Harry right in the face!
“Look out!” called Harry, trying to dodge the flapping fish. “Put your catch down. He’s a good one, but I don’t care about having him kiss me that way again.”
All the boys laughed at Bert, who was a green fisherman they said. The fish was really a very nice plump chub and weighed more than a pound. He floundered around in the basket and flapped his tail wildly trying to get away from them.
“I’ve got one,” called Tom next, at the same moment pulling his line and bringing up a pretty little sunfish. Now “sunnies” are not considered good eating, so Tom’s catch did not come up to Bert’s, but it was put in the basket just the same.
“I’m going out on the springboard,” August Stout announced, stepping cautiously out on the board from which good swimmers dived.
“You know you can’t swim, August,” said Harry, “and if you get a catch and jerk it you’ll tumble in.”
“Oh! I’ll be all right,” August answered, lying down flat on the narrow springboard and dropping his line.
For a time all the boys lay watching for a bite. No one spoke, for sometimes they say fish are very sensitive to sound and go in another direction if they hear a voice.
It was a beautiful July day, and perhaps the boys were a little lazy. At any rate, they all became so quiet the little woodpeckers on the trees went on with their work pecking at the tree bark as if no human being was in sight.
Suddenly there was a big splash!
“August!” yelled all the boys at once, for indeed August was gone from the springboard.
“Quick!” called Harry to his companions. “He can’t swim!”
The next minute the boy in the water came to the top and threw up his arm. But no one was near enough to reach it.
“Strike out, August!” yelled Bert. “We’re coming,” and one boy after the other dropped in the water now, having thrown off their heavy clothing.
“Oh, where is he?” screamed Bert in terror, for no movement on the water’s surface showed them where August was.
“Here!” cried Tom Mason, who was quite a distance out. “Here he is! Help! come quick!”
No need to urge the boys to hasten, for all realized the danger their companion was in.
“Don’t pull down, August,” went on Tom. “Try to help yourself, or you’ll pull me under.” Harry had around his neck a strong piece of rope he picked up as he made a dive into the water.
“Take hold of this,” he called to August, “and we can all pull.”
As the rope was put in August’s hand the other boys all took hold and soon towed the unfortunate boy in.
“He’s very weak,” said Harry when they pulled August up on the shore. “I guess he has swallowed a lot of water. We better roll him on the grass and work his arms up and down. That will revive him.”
August was indeed very weak, and had had a narrow escape. For some time his companions worked over him before he opened his eyes and spoke.
“Oh!” he murmured at last, “I’m so sick!”
“I guess you are, August,” said Tom, “but you�
�ll be all right soon.” They lifted him carefully under a shady tree and removed his wet clothing.
“I’ll run over to Smith’s and get him something to wear home,” said Harry, who hurried across lots and presently returned with an old suit of clothes. August was able to dress himself now, and as soon as he felt strong enough the boys helped him home.
“You can have my fish, August,” said Bert nobly.
“And mine too,” Tom added. August did not want to accept the boys’ offers at first, but at last they prevailed upon him to do so.
“I think I fell asleep,” said he, referring to the accident.
“Guess we all did!” added Harry, “for we only woke up when we heard the splash.”
It seems the number of accidents country boys have only make them truer friends, for all the things that happened in Meadow Brook made each boy think more of his companions both in being grateful for the help given and being glad no dear friend’s life was lost.
CHAPTER XIII
Picking Peas
“Mother,” said Harry, using that loved name to show that what he was about to say was something important, “Peter Burns is sick. He has not been able to work since the cannon exploded and gave him the shock, and all his peas are spoiling because there’s no one to pick them. Mrs. Burns hired some boys yesterday, but they broke down so many vines she had to stop them; and, mother, would you mind if Bert and I picked some today? The sun is not hot.”
“Why, my dear,” replied Aunt Sarah, “it would be very nice of you to help Peter; he has always been a kind neighbor. I don’t think it would do you any harm to pick peas on a cool day like this. Bert can ask his mother, and if she is satisfied you can put on your play overalls and go right along.”
Both boys were given the desired permission, and when Tom and Jack heard where the Bobbseys were going they said at once they would go along.
“Are you sure your mother won’t mind?” Mrs. Burns asked the boys, knowing Harry’s folks did not need the money paid to pick the peas. “Of course I’m very glad to have you if your mothers are satisfied.”
Soon each boy had a big basket under his arm, and was off for the beautiful field of soft green peas, that stretched along the pond bank at the side of Mrs. Burns’ home. Now, peas are quite an expensive vegetable when they come in first, and farmers who have big fields of them depend upon the return from the crop as an important part of the summer’s income. But the peas must be picked just as soon as they are ripe, or else they will spoil. This was why Harry got his friends to turn in to help poor Peter Burns.
“I’ll go down this row and you take that.” suggested Bert to Harry. “Then we can talk to each other without hollering.”
“All right,” Harry replied, snapping the peas off the vines and dropping them into his basket like a real farmer.
“Let’s have a race,” called Tom. “See who gets his basket full first.”
“But no skipping for big ones,” put in Jack. “You have to pick every ripe one.”
The boys all started in at the top of the hill, each working two rows at a time. They were so interested in the race that scarcely a word was spoken. The peas were plentiful and ripe too, so that the baskets were filling up quickly. Mrs. Burns herself was picking, in fact she had been in the field since the very first peep of dawn, and she would be sure to stay out until the darkness would drive her in.
“You are fine pickers,” she told the boys, seeing how quickly they worked. “I pay ten cents a basket, you know.”
“I guess we can earn a dollar a day at this rate,” laughed Tom, whose basket was almost full.
“I’m done,” called Jack from his row.
“No, you’re not,” said Harry, “you have to cover the rim.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Jack, who had just slipped between the rows. “Oh! there goes my basket.”
And sure enough the big basket had been upset in Jack’s fall, and most of the peas were scattered on the ground.
“Ha! ha!” laughed Bert. “I’m first. My basket is full.”
“I’m next!” called Tom, picking his basket up in his arms.
“Well, I’ll be last I guess,” laughed Tom, trying hard to pick up the scattered peas.
“There’s mine!” called Harry, and now all the boys carried their baskets to the big bag at the end of the field and dumped them in.
“It won’t take long to fill the bag,” said Harry, “and it will be so good for Peter to have them ready, for to-morrow is market day.”
So the boys worked on right along until lunch time, each having picked four big baskets full. August Stout came along and helped some too, but he could not stay long, as he had to cut some clothes poles for his mother.
“Well, I declare!” said Mrs. Burns, looking at the three full bags the boys had picked. “Isn’t that splendid! But I can’t pay until Peter comes from market.”
“We just did it for fun,” answered Harry. “We don’t want any pay.”
“Indeed you must have forty cents apiece, ten cents a basket,” she insisted. “See what a good load you have picked!”
“No, really, Mrs. Burns; mother wouldn’t like us to take the money,” Harry declared. “We are glad to have helped you, and it was only fun.”
Poor Mrs. Burns was so grateful she had to wipe her eyes with her gingham apron.
“Well,” she said finally, “There are some people in this world who talk about charity, but a good boy is a gift from heaven,” and she said this just like a prayer of blessing on the boys who had helped her.
“The crop would have been spoiled to-morrow,” remarked Tom, as he and his companions started up the road. “I’m awfully glad you thought of helping her, Harry.”
It seemed all that day everything went right for the boys; they did not have even a single mishap in their games or wanderings. Perhaps it was because they felt so happy over having done a good turn for a poor neighbor.
“Say, fellows,” Tom said later, while they sat on the pond bank trying to see something interesting in the cool, clear water, “what do you say if we make up a circus!”
“Fine,” the others answered, “but what will be the show?”
“Animals of course,” continued Tom; “we’ve got plenty around here, haven’t we?”
“Well, some,” Harry admitted. “There’s Sable, for instance.”
At this the boys all laughed at Tom, remembering the runaway.
“Well, I could be a cowboy, and ride him just the same,” spoke up Tom. “I rode him around the track yesterday, and he went all right. He was only scared with that sulphur match when he ran away.”
“A circus would be fine,” Bert put in. “We could have Frisky as the Sacred Calf.”
“And Snoopy as the Wild Cat,” said Harry.
“And two trained goats,” August added.
“And a real human bear, ‘Teddy’?” suggested Jack.
“Then a cage of pigeons,” went on Harry.
“Let’s get them all in training,” said Tom, jumping up suddenly, anxious to begin the sport.
“I tell you!” Harry planned. “We can each train our own animals and then we can bring them together in a well-organized circus.”
“When will we have it?” August asked impatiently.
“About next week,” Harry thought, and this was decided upon.
During the interval the boys were so busy training that they had little time for other sports, but the girls found out-door life quite as interesting as their brothers did, and now made many discoveries in and about the pretty woodlands.
“Oh, we saw the prettiest little rabbits today,” Nan told her mother, after a trip in the woods. “Flossie and Freddie were sitting on an old stump when two rabbits ran right across the road in front of them. Freddie ran after them as far as he could go in the brushwood, but of course no one can go as fast as a rabbit.”
“And the squirrels,” Flossie told them. “I think the squirrels are the prettiest things that live in the woods. T
hey have tails just like mamma’s feather boa and they walk sitting up so cute.”
“Oh, I think the rabbits are the nicest,” lisped Freddie, “’cause they are Bunnies, and Bunnies bring Easter eggs.”
“And we have made the loveliest fern garden up back of the swing,” said Flossie. “We got a whole basket of ferns in the woods and transplanted them.”
“In the center we have some lovely Jack-in the-pulpits,” Nan added. “Some are light green striped, and the largest are purple with gold stripes. The Jacks stand up straight, just like real live boys preaching in a pulpit.”
“Don’t you think, mamma,” asked Flossie, “that daisies and violets make a lovely garden? I have a round place in the middle of our wild flower bed just full of light blue violets and white daisies.”
“All flowers are beautiful,” their mamma told them, “but I do think with Flossie that daisies and violets are very sweet.”
“And, mamma, we got a big piece of the loveliest green moss! It is just like real velvet,” said Flossie. “We found a place all covered with it down by the pond, under the dark cedar trees. Nan said it wouldn’t grow in our garden, but I brought some home to try. I put it in a cool dark place, and I’m going to put lots of water on it every day.”
“Moss must be very cool and damp to grow,” Mrs. Bobbsey replied. “I remember how disappointed I used to be when I was a little girl and tried to make it grow around my geraniums. It would always dry up and turn brown in a few days.”
“Oh,” called Freddie from his garden under the cherry tree, “come quick! Look at the funny bugs!”
Nan and Flossie hurried to where their little brother had dug a hole in the earth.
“They’re mice!” exclaimed Nan. “Oh, aren’t they cute! Let’s catch them. Call Bert or Harry.”
While Flossie ran to tell Bert, Nan watched the tiny mice so that they would not get away.
“It’s a nest of field mice,” Harry told them.
“We’ll put them in a cage and have them in our circus.”
“But they’re my mice,” cried Freddie, “and I won’t let anybody have them!”
“We’re only going to help you take care of them in a little box. Oh, there’s the mother—catch her, Harry,” called Bert.
The Bobbsey Twins Megapack Page 17