Part 10

“Yes, Jane. Every summer seems a little shorter than the last. When I was a little girl the summer days seemed to stretch in front of me like years. Now I have so much to do and so much to think about that the years fly past like days.” A long green peeling fell to the floor in the shape of a treble clef, and Grandma’s sharp little paring knife twinkled around another apple. “Your mother had a telephone message,” she said. “It seems that your friend Dor is coming out on the five o’clock bus.”

“Oh goody, oh wonderful, Grandma!” She gave her a hug that sent the little green apples flying all over the porch.

“You wild one,” said Grandma, straightening her glasses. Jane was down on her hands and knees searching for the runaways.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Just for that I’ll stay here and help you peel them.”

The afternoon passed quickly, and at five o’clock Mom drove down to the bus station with Janie beside her and the three curious boys in the back. The passengers got off on the other side of the bus, so they saw their feet and legs first. It was easy to identify Mr. Williams by his brief case. The bus driver helped an old lady off with her suitcase and then a pair of sun-tanned legs swung off the steps and Dor appeared around the corner of the bus.

“It’s Dorothy Dreyer,” cried Billy.

“Dreyer,” squealed James, “with her braces off! Boy! what teeth! A smile like a movie star.” Everybody laughed at that, and they started back for the cottage.

“Oh,” said Janie, “I’m so glad you could come. Let me hold some of your things. What in the world do you have in this one? It’s heavy.”

“Worms,” said the practical Miss Dreyer. “I knew the ground would be dry now, and you’d be running out of bait, so I brought my own bait.” Mom looked a trifle dashed, but the boys beamed on her.

“Dreyer,” said Bill. “You would have made a swell boy.”

They laughed and joked as they carried her stuff down to the cottage. Everyone seemed to feel lighthearted and gay. They sat around the table talking until it was almost dark. Someone started to sing, and they all joined in. Daddy played the piano, and the children made so much noise that Buick heard them next door and started to howl.

After the commotion died down the two girls strolled down to the pier, and sat there dipping their toes in the water and watching the reflection of the stars.

“Do you know what?” Dor asked.

“No, what?”

“I’m going to be a vet.”

“A what?”

“A vet. You know, a horse doctor. I just love horses and dogs, and I’m really very good at taking care of them. I’ve decided to devote my life to them.”

“Pooh,” said Janie inelegantly. “What about the ballet? Last year you said you were going to be a ballerina, and spend the rest of your life on your tiptoes.”

“That was last year,” said Dor patiently. “A lot can happen to a girl’s life in a year.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Janie agreed. Dor stretched out and lay on her back on the pier, looking at the stars overhead.

“What are you going to be, Janie?”

“I’m going to be a frozen corpse if I don’t go into the house and get a sweater. I’m beginning to sneeze.” She started for the cottage. “Do you want to come in or shall I bring a sweater for you?”

“Never mind about a sweater,” Dor said, “but send Billy down with a flashlight. We’ll go hunting frogs.”

Janie curled up on the davenport with an apple and a book. Now and then she would glance up to see the light flash on and off along the shore as Dor and Billy and James pursued their favorite pastime.

“What are those children doing down there?” asked Grandma.

“They’re catching frogs,” Mom answered.

“Catching frogs? Lands sakes! What for?”

“Just for fun. They let them go again.”

Grandma looked puzzled. “They’re really entertaining Dor,” Mom went on. “If she couldn’t have a frog hunt when she came out here for a visit, I’m sure she’d be disappointed.”

Soon after daybreak Billy scratched on Janie’s screen. There was no response. He called softly. Still no response. Then he shouted: “If you lazy girls don’t get up and come fishing with us we’ll go alone.” Janie grunted and Dor stirred. “And,” Billy continued, “we’ll take the worm can, and we’ll use up all the worms.” That helped.

“Wait for us. We’ll be right out.”

They had breakfast at the kitchen sink, and Davey heard them and demanded to go along. Five was a crowd for the row boat, but he looked so eager it was hard to refuse him. “All right,” Billy said, “but sit tight, and don’t catch any turtles.”

They pushed off in the mist. Billy and James took the oars, the girls sat on the back seat, and Davey sat in the front. They decided to try the pond first. Fishing was fair. By nine o’clock they had about a dozen blue gills. Dor was in favor of staying, but the Murrays knew they could do better than that.

“Let’s go to the dam,” said Bill, and they started down along the eastern shore.

They rowed along quietly until Janie pointed to the shore and said, “Look! Look at the smoke! The old man’s lot is on fire!” There was just enough breeze to fan the flames and while they watched the fire spread rapidly.

“Golly,” said Bill. “It’s getting close to the shack. It’s been so dry the last couple of weeks that if the fire gets over there near those old dry boards, everything will go.”

Just then the old man appeared at the door of his shack and saw the grass fire. He grabbed a shovel and began to thump at the flames vigorously. He couldn’t quite catch up with them. As fast as he would get one patch extinguished, another would creep around behind him.

“What are we sitting here for,” asked Dor getting to her feet. “Come on, let’s help him put that fire out.”

Bill looked at Janie, and Janie looked perplexed. James blurted out, “He doesn’t like us. He chased us out of there once, and Daddy and Mom told us to keep out of his way.”

Dor was indignant. “Do you mean to say that your Dad and Mom wouldn’t even let you go in there and throw a pail of water on a fire? Do you mean to say that you’d sit here and watch that old man’s house burn down?” Dor was angry. Janie was angry too.

“His house isn’t burning down. It’s just an old grass fire, and he can see us plain enough. If he wanted us to help he’d say so.”

Almost as if he had heard their words, the old man turned and shouted at them, “Hey there, you young fella in the boat, come in here and help me put this fire out. Can’t you see that it’s getting away from me? Get a move on you!”

Dor answered for the Murrays, “Here we come!” and they pulled for shore with all their might.

Billy and James ran for the pump to get water, and Dor and Janie picked up some loose boards as they ran and beat at the rapidly spreading flames. The heat was intense and the smoke choked them, but they stomped and smothered with all their strength. Davey was sent back to the pump. “You keep pumping,” Billy yelled, “and we’ll run back and forth with the buckets.”

The smoke kept getting in Janie’s eyes, and it hurt so that the tears ran. Her face burned, and she could even feel the heat through the soles of her thin summer shoes. Oh, why didn’t somebody come? They’d all burn up in this dreadful fire. She had forgotten all about her fear of the old man. In the excitement they pounded away at the fire, side by side.

Suddenly she turned and looked up at him. He had stopped and was holding his side. He had a queer expression on his face. He reached out as if to grab something, and then fell at her feet.

“Help! Help!” screamed Janie. “Dor, James, Billy! He’s fainted.”

Dor came leaping over the burned stubble. Her face was a black smudge, and she had a wild look in her eye.

“Throw water on him,” she cried. “Get him out of here!” Billy and James reached under his shoulders, and Janie and Dor caught hold of the strong leather belt at his waist. They pulled and tugged with all their might. He was awfully heavy. Davey yelled from behind them, “Hey kids, the fire is getting bad again.” There was no choice. They dropped the unconscious man and raced back to the fire.

“Davey!” Billy shouted. “You get out of here! Run to the nearest house and get help, and then run home and get Daddy!”

Davey’s short legs disappeared through the smoke, and Janie’s heart sank. One less to pump and to carry water. The old man lay just where they left him. He seemed dead. There was so much smoke in the air they could hardly see each other, and as the flames raced up the tall weed stalks bits of burning grass would fall on their arms and hands. James was sobbing as he pounded away with the flat side of his shovel. Billy was coughing and gasping.

“One more patch,” Dor called out. “This is the last bad spot! If we can put this one out, the others aren’t so bad. It’s reached the lake on one side, and it’s almost at the road on the other.”

They beat at the fire valiantly, and little by little, it gave way. The roaring and the crackling died down. It had almost burned itself out. The smoke was as bad as ever as they raced back to the old man’s side. He was awake now, but he didn’t seem able to move. They tugged and pulled at him and got him to the door of the shack. Billy looked around for a bed, but there was none. There was a cot in the corner, and they pulled it over close to the door and helped him to lie down. Dor found a towel and wiped his face. He smiled at her. He had a sort of nice face when he smiled. “Thank you, young lady,” he said, and looked at her kindly.

“Don’t talk, Mr. Mott,” said Janie. “Lie still and rest. My daddy is coming, and he’ll get a doctor.”

“Doctor? Rest? Pshaw! I never had a doctor in my life. I don’t need to rest. I’m fine now. Fit as a fiddle. I just swallowed a might too much smoke, I guess. I’m fine now, fine.” He tried to get to his feet, but it didn’t work so well, for he faltered and then settled back on the cot again. “I’m fine,” he insisted.

The inside of the shack was poor and incredibly dirty. There was a cook stove in the middle of the floor that smoked. It must have been smoking for years, because the ceiling and walls were black and covered with soot. There were no curtains on the windows. The floor was black, and there was a heap of tools in one corner and a pile of wood in the other. There were a few chairs that looked like the antique chairs that Mom had in the bedrooms at home, but they had no seats and the wood was dark and furry with dirt. Half a loaf of bread stood on a small table together with an empty meat wrapper, half a pound of lard, and a dirty frying pan. A cup and a plate and a knife stood by, looking as if they had been used again and again without washing. Janie groaned as she thought of how she hated to wash dishes. “Dear Lord,” she prayed. “If You get us out of this mess, I’ll never complain about washing dishes again. I never loved and appreciated a clean house as much as I do this minute.”

What a relief to hear Dad’s hearty voice in the yard! Davey scampered along beside him, feeling important. “Well, well, Mr. Mott. You had quite a fire, I see.” He looked at his black-faced children in amazement. “What happened?” he asked. They all started to answer at once.

“Just a minute,” he said, “let Dor tell me.” Dor took a breath and recited what had happened from the first wisp of smoke to the face washing. When she finished Dad looked very serious. “Mom is waiting for you children in the car,” he said. “She’ll drive you home.” They said “Good-by,” and hurried off.

Daddy turned to Mr. Mott. “I think you should have a doctor,” he said. “Will you let me call one for you?” The old man looked feeble lying there, and suddenly he seemed shrunken and pathetic.

“The fact is,” he said, “I haven’t any money. I have no money to call a doctor, and I won’t take charity. My father lived on this land, and now I’m going to lose it because I can’t pay my taxes. It’s a dang shame, that’s what it is.” He blew his nose fiercely.

“Now, Mr. Mott, don’t worry about that now. Lie still and rest a bit.”

“I feel fine now. Pshaw, I just lost my breath in the smoke. It does me good to talk, Mr. Murray. I don’t mind talking.” He sat up on the cot. “I tell you, sir, it isn’t right. They can’t do this to a man. We used to own a whole section of land, and now all I have left is this little piece around the house. I’m going to lose this too, because I can’t pay my taxes. Why, my father owned the finest house in the hereabouts. He owned a good deal of land too. I’ve got some papers over there on the desk I wish you’d look at. They’ll prove what I say is true.” He pointed to a heap of messy looking rubbish piled up on a flat topped desk in the corner. “Right there you’ll find a letter that my father got from the governor of the state in 1852.” Mr. Murray hesitated. “Go on,” urged Mr. Mott. “Find it. I want you to read it.”

The papers were yellow with age, calenders and advertisements for patent medicines were unclassified. There were old bread wrappers and samples of unused wall paper. Finally Mr. Murray found the letter. He took it over to the door and looked at it carefully. He didn’t read it. He just looked at it, and his excitement grew, for marching across the top of the envelope were three dark blue one-cent stamps. There was a portrait of George Washington in the center of each one. The cancellation marks were not heavy, and though they were dusty and old, they were in good condition.

“Mr. Mott,” he said. “Never mind about the letter. I think we’ve found the solution to your problem right here on the envelope.” He pointed to the stamps. “These are valuable,” he said. “I happen to know that they have a catalogue value of one hundred and fifty dollars apiece. You won’t get full value for them, of course, but you’ll get enough money to pay your back taxes, and you’ll save your land. You’ll even have a little money left over.”

Mr. Mott rose up and took the letter and looked at it. He blinked. “Are you sure, Mr. Murray?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he replied. “If you look through your old papers carefully, you may find some more of them. I tell you what we’ll do. As soon as you feel well enough I’ll drive you into town. We’ll go to the stamp dealer who buys these old stamps, and I’m sure he’ll be interested. He’ll most likely pay you a good price. What do you say?”

The old man sat holding the letter in his hands. He turned it around and around. He peered at the stamps closely. “Well, I’ll be jiggered,” he said.

Dad laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “That was just the tonic you needed,” he said. “You look much better already.”

Mr. Mott stood up. His clothes were dirty, but his shoulders squared back and he held his chin up. “The Motts aren’t licked yet,” he said. “Thanks to you, sir, the Motts still own land.”

As Dad started out the door he met the goat coming in. He looked astonished, and stepped to one side. “That’s Mirandy,” said Mr. Mott. “She won’t hurt ye none. You know,” he continued, as the goat ate crumbs from the floor, “you folks have been mighty kind to me, and I’m not going to forget it. No sir, I’m not. I’m going to give you a fine present.”

Dad looked a little flustered. “Why, no, Mr. Mott,” he said. “It wasn’t anything at all that you wouldn’t have done for a neighbor.”

“No sirree, you did me a good turn, and one of these days you’re going to get a present.”

Dad shook hands for good-by, and chuckled as he started off down the road for home. He was still chuckling when he talked to Mom about it. “The old gentleman perked right up. He even wanted to give me a present, although what he could spare, I can’t imagine.”

“Perhaps he’ll give you one of his old stamps,” said Billy.

Dad looked pleased, but he tried hard not to show it. “Here we go again,” he said, “getting romantic. I wouldn’t mind having some of the stuff he’s got. I’d like to go through that scrap heap of his more carefully.”

_Chapter Fifteen_

_Good-by Summer_

Summer was almost over. The winding country roads were banked with golden rod and purple asters. The hidden silk of the milkweed floated like fairy wings on the still air. Mom canned peaches and tomatoes, and Aunt Claire pushed and coaxed crooked little pickles into jars.

Martins gathered on the telephone wires at the side of the road. There were mothers and fathers and uncles and aunts and many, many children. They chirped and twittered without end. The young ones darted about constantly as if to say:

“Enough of this talk, and these endless plans. Come, let us be off. See what a fine flier I am. See how cleverly I use my wings.”

The braggart would circle and dip, but he’d soon be back pushing his brothers about rudely to make a place for himself. Sometimes they all started off at once, and the sky was filled with the rushing of wings. Janie strained her eyes after them and sighed,

“If I could only fly along. What sights they must see! What wonderful adventures they must have! Good-by, good-by, until next summer.”

They disappeared in the distance, but early the next morning they were back again, like a bar of music against the sky. One day, of course, they would really leave.

The stove was squat and shiny, like a little old lady in a black taffeta dress. It crackled and glowed, and the curved sheet iron back got slightly pink. The copper tea-kettle on top quivered and spit like an angry cat. Mist hung over the lake and the grass was wet with dew. Uncle Jim, who had lived in China, always described the weather as a one-coat day or a two-coat day. Late August mornings at Oak Lake were one-coat. Breakfast time was one sweater, and by nine o’clock it was hot and clear with shivers and sweaters forgotten.

Mr. Murray took Mr. Mott to the stamp dealer who was pleased as he could be about the rare old stamps. He paid him one hundred and fifty dollars for the three that Daddy found the day of the fire, and offered to buy any more that might turn up. The old man was overjoyed. He paid his delinquent taxes and bought a coaster wagon full of provisions at the store. Everyone ran to the gate to watch him come down the road. Mirandy was hitched to the wagon, and she tripped along with her head high and her whisker waving in the breeze. Her eyelashes dropped demurely, and a stranger looking at her would never have guessed that she was as temperamental as an opera singer and as wicked as sin. Mr. Mott wore a new shirt, violently plaid.

“Good morning,” he called, bowing and smiling. “Good morning Mrs. Murray, good morning folks! Mighty fine weather we’re having.”

The Murrays laughed and waved and called out to him.

“He has a gold mine in that little old chicken coop of his,” said Mom. “He came down here last night with another stack of letters. Daddy figured that the stamps on them should be worth about six hundred dollars, and he found a certificate of stock that might still be sold for a tidy little sum.”

“Oh, Mom,” said Janie. “Do you suppose he’ll move back into the big house and fix it all up again the way it used to be?”

“No, I don’t think he ever would. He’s an old man now, and he’s content to leave things pretty much as they are. I hope he’ll clean up that shack of his. He didn’t say anything about that, although he did speak of having a vacation.” Billy sat on one stone post and Janie sat on the other. “Doesn’t he look grand Bill?” asked Janie as they admired the retreating procession. “He turned out to be quite nice after all. Do you remember how we used to run at the sight of him? I used to shiver at the very mention of his name, and all the time he was just a harmless old man.” Billy smiled and shook his head.

“It’s funny,” he said, “how just being kind to a person will improve his disposition. I wonder what he’ll give Daddy for a present.”

“Billy,” Jane exclaimed. “It isn’t polite to wonder what people are going to give you for a present, and besides, it will probably be a stamp. He must know that Daddy is just crazy about stamps, even if he doesn’t collect any more.”

Billy shaded his eyes as he looked across the road. “Yes,” he said. “It will probably be a stamp. What’s that moving under the little cottage?” He jumped off the post and ran. “Queenie is out again. That’s the second time this week she got out.”

“Better catch her in a hurry,” called Jane. “The last time she got out she ate Mr. Landry’s petunias, and Mom said the next time we’d have fried rabbit.”

“Murder,” growled Bill. “She gets in there under the foundation, and I can’t get in after her, then the minute I go away she’ll come out and run away.”

“Come on, Queenie,” called Jane. “Better to be in your cage than in the frying pan.”

“Stop that blood-thirsty talk,” said Billy making a face. “You know Mom was only fooling.”

Jane giggled. “Maybe she was, but don’t tell Queenie. She’s been a naughty girl, and she needs discipline.”

“This isn’t funny,” grumbled Billy. “You get on the other side of the house, and catch her when she comes out. I’ll chase her out with this long stick.” Jane looked dubious, and he continued: “And don’t let her slip through your fingers!” He waved his branch, and out streaked Queenie, right through Janie’s outstretched hands and into Landry’s flower bed. There she sat nibbling on asters, and every time they would get close enough to lay hands on her, she would dash off to another corner of the yard.

“I know what I’ll do,” said Billy. “You stay here and keep an eye on her, and I’ll catch her with my landing net.” Back he came in a few minutes with his long-handled net, but Queenie was gone. “Billy, I’m so sorry, I just couldn’t help it. I was looking right at her and she just disappeared.”

They scouted around the neighborhood, but no sign of a white rabbit.

“Maybe a dog ate her,” said Billy mournfully.

“Maybe she was run over by a car,” brooded Jane. They walked slowly out to the end of the lot where the hutch stood, and then they both stood open-mouthed in astonishment. There, on her bed of clover, sat Queenie eating a carrot!

“Well, mow me down,” said Billy when he could get his breath.

“She’s a witch,” said Jane.

Leaving the cottage at the end of the season always came as a surprise. It seemed that everything would be as usual one day, and the next morning the air would be full of preparations for going home. The boats had to be taken in and turned upside down to dry out. The raft never came in until the last afternoon of their stay, but screens had to come off, and awnings had to be taken down. Janie always felt a little pang of sadness at the thought of going back to town. Life in Springhill was exciting and interesting, but the long summer days at the lake were so much fun.

Grandma and Aunt Claire went back to town early, but the Murrays stayed until the last day before school started. Dad had the trailer again, and this time it was piled up higher than ever.

On the last morning Janie waded through a maze of packing boxes and suitcases on the porch. Davey was feeding Butch, and Mom was doing her best to persuade James that he could not bring a large fish into town to be mounted.

“But, Mom,” said James, “it’s the biggest fish I ever caught.”

“I’m sorry, my boy. You should have thought of that while he was still fresh, and not after he had been left down at the pier for two days.”

“But, Mom,” James repeated. “He’s the biggest fish I ever caught.”

Mom didn’t say anything. She just squinted her eyes and pinched her nose shut between her first finger and her thumb. James looked at her for a moment, and then he said,

“All right, all right,” and he took the fish out and buried it.

Dad and Bill were stacking packing boxes in the trailer. Jane ate breakfast in a hurry off the edge of the kitchen sink, and then she made the rounds to see that all the windows were fastened securely. Billy had fixed a covered market basket for Blackie and Queen and he set out for the back yard to get them started on the journey. He came back with his eyes bulging.

“What do you suppose that Queenie did now?”