Part 4

“Well, it was like this. I picked the pansies for Grandma’s bedside because she likes them so much, and Davey felt that he wanted to do something too. He fixed a glass of lemonade for beside your bed, so that you would have a welcoming present too. I think by now it should be quite stale, but he was happy about it.”

Aunt Claire was touched. “Why the darling,” she said. “I’d drink it gladly, but there seems to be just a tiny spider web across the top. I know what we’ll do. We’ll use it to water Grandma’s window box. Lemons are chock full of vitamins. It should do the geraniums a lot of good.”

So, into the geraniums went Davey’s lemonade. All that summer Janie noticed that they did exceptionally well.

_Chapter Six_

_Buick, the Detective_

Jane sat on the watching post swinging her legs and braiding clover. A small truck stopped at the Saunders’ place next door, and Ben, the handy man who did odd jobs for Mrs. Saunders, got out and lugged a lawn mower after him.

“Hi, Ben,” called Janie. “Is Mrs. Saunders coming out?”

“Hi there, Janie,” Ben called back, and stopped to get his pipe lit. “Yep,” he said. “My wife got a card from Mis’ Saunders just this morning. Says she’s coming out for a few days, and we should cut the grass and tidy the place up a bit. Don’t see what tidying up there’d be to do. The place hasn’t been touched. Not a soul in it since last fall when she was here last, but womenfolks are always drivin’ a man crazy by thinking up work. Washing windows, and cuttin’ grass, and dustin’. Land sakes, it’s enough to kill a man. And me with my back.”

Down the embankment he went with the lawn mower whirring in front of him. Janie couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she could still see the scowl on his face.

“Poor Ben,” she laughed. “If only he didn’t have to work.” She jumped off the watching post, and started off for the garden. “Before I laugh at Ben,” she thought, “I’d better get my own work done.” She weeded four rows of beans, and piled some dry grass cuttings around the base of the tomato plants. Then she sat under the mulberry tree and watched a mother wren dart back and forth feeding her brood on bits of juicy red mulberry. “I guess I’ll try one myself,” she thought. She did, but it was still tart, and not quite ripe.

“Help yourself, Mrs. Wren,” she said. “I hope your babies like them better than I do.”

She wandered back down to the front yard, and held yarn while Grandma wound it into balls. When that was finished she changed into her swimming suit and sat on the pier until it was time to go swimming. Dad and Mom insisted on regular swim periods. The children could go in before lunch in the morning, and again between four and five in the afternoon, but they never could go in at odd times by themselves. The swimming always had to be supervised by a grownup.

“You can’t be too careful,” Dad would always say. “You only drown once.”

Ben was busy all morning, and about noon Mrs. Saunders arrived. Mom sent Janie over.

“See if she won’t come over and have lunch with us,” she said.

Mrs. Saunders said “Thank you,” but she was expecting company in the afternoon, and she had a lot of unpacking to do.

The children loved Mrs. Saunders. She was easily the most fabulous neighbor that the Murrays ever had. A quiet, gentle widow, she had inherited a modest sheaf of stocks and bonds from her late husband, but they weren’t ordinary, dry-as-dust stocks and bonds. She owned part of a candy factory.

“Creepers,” Billy exclaimed every time he saw her. “Imagine having all the candy you could eat!”

Mrs. Saunders didn’t come to her lake cottage very often, but when she did, she always brought candy. Not suckers or caramels or fudge, but candy bars. Time was when Janie thought that one candy bar was riches, but Mrs. Saunders always brought a carton at a time. Mom shook her head as Janie returned, smiling from ear to ear, and carrying the familiar carton.

“Whoops!” cried the boys, but Mom reached for the box and put it on top of the piano.

“No, you don’t,” she said. “Not until every plate is clean. Eat your vegetables first, and then we’ll see about candy.”

They finished their vegetables in record time, and after the dishes were washed they each had a candy bar to eat down under the willow tree. Butch licked the wrappers.

Grandma was taking a nap in the little cottage, and Mom was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the porch rubbing sandpaper back and forth on an old chair. Dad was home that day. He was trying to think, he explained to the children. He’d make awful faces and run his fingers through his hair. Sometimes his face would light up, and he’d write like fury, and then again he would crumple what he had written into a ball and throw it on the floor. Mom scratched at the chair.

“Elizabeth,” Dad said. “Elizabeth, my dear, dear wife, what are you doing to that chair?”

She looked at him through the rungs. “I’m taking the old finish off,” she answered. “I just know that under these layers of paint, it’s walnut or mahogany, or even cherry.”

Daddy picked up his papers. “Elizabeth,” he said. “You scratch away to your heart’s content. I’m going to do my writing out on the terrace.”

“Oh,” said Mom, looking up. “Am I driving you away?”

He made believe he was pulling out his hair. “No,” he gurgled. “You’re driving me cr’razy!”

“I’m so sorry, dear,” said Mom and kept on scratching.

Once established on the terrace, Daddy stretched his legs and started all over again. Buick lay at his feet, sunning himself, and every little while he edged over and licked Daddy’s hand.

“Go home, pooch, beat it!” But Buick only wagged his stump of a tail as if he had heard the music of angels, and he stayed right there. As a matter of fact, he spent so much time with the Murrays that many people weren’t sure whose dog he was.

Things were like that with the Murrays and the Landrys. It was because they were such good friends. There was a gap in the hedge between the two back yards that had never been filled in because someone was always running back and forth. The Murray’s rock garden ran over the lot line and into Landry’s yard, and the flowers flourished there as if they knew they were welcome. Farther down, the pump stood exactly on the lot line and was shared by the two families, and at the water’s edge the Murray bathhouse stood cozily, back to back, with the Landry bathhouse. Bulbs and perennials had been shared and swapped until the gardens looked related, and Mr. Landry’s little grandson, Peter, claimed the Murray swing.

But this afternoon Buick was really making a nuisance of himself. He seemed to want Daddy to get out of his chair and follow him, and poor Daddy was trying so hard to write.

“Go away, go on, get out of here,” he would say. “Beat it or I’ll hit you with a flower pot,” but Buick kept coming back again and again. He would tug at Daddy’s sleeve and then run off a little distance and bark in short quick yelps. He kept this up until Daddy finally said, “Now listen to me, I’m not going to get up and play with you. I’m going to sit here and write. Go away! Can’t you see I’m a working man?”

Janie came around the corner just then and she stopped to watch. “Why, Daddy,” she said. “Something is up. Buick never acts like this. He seems to want to tell you something. Let’s follow him and see what he wants.” Daddy sighed and put a loose brick on top of his work for a paper weight.

“All right, all right,” he said. “I may as well. I’ll have no peace or rest until I do.”

Buick dashed up the rock garden steps, and they followed him across the road and into the back lot. He ran under the hedge near the little cottage and barked and barked.

“What is it, old fellow?” Daddy asked. “What’s the excitement?”

Buick ran under the hedge again and dug furiously with his short front paws. Then he stopped and picked something up in his mouth and hurried out and dropped it at Daddy’s feet.

“The purse!” Jane cried. “Why Daddy, that’s the purse that Butchie found in Mrs. Saunders’ junk pile. We thought it was up on the roof. How do you suppose it got under the hedge?”

“Butchie must have buried it there,” said Daddy, turning it over in his hands. “The sly little rascal didn’t want us to find it, but Buick outguessed him.”

“Open it! Open it!” Jane cried. “Hurry Daddy, I want to see what’s in it.”

Dad snapped it open and emptied it into Janie’s outstretched hands. It was filled with jewelry. Beautiful, old fashioned jewelry. There were two gold rings and a brooch and a locket. There was a small gold bracelet, such as a child might wear.

“Hm’m’m,” said Daddy. “Quite a little swag that our monkey had tucked away.” Janie was almost too surprised to talk.

“Why, Daddy,” she said, “this must belong to Mrs. Saunders. How do you suppose it got tossed out in the junk that way?”

“I can’t imagine,” Daddy answered. “Come on, let’s go and see what she says.” They hurried over and knocked on the door, but she had gone to the bus station to meet her guests and no one was home.

“Let’s show it to Mom,” said Janie, as they walked back to their cottage.

Mom was amazed. The boys were called in and they stood gaping. Grandma came down after taking her nap and she said, “Oh, so that’s what all the barking was about. I wondered what was going on.”

Butchie was terribly excited about finding the purse. He chattered and danced around and stood up and begged in his most persuasive manner. When he finally saw that he wasn’t going to be allowed to keep his treasure, he just plain sulked. Every one watched for Mrs. Saunders to come home and as soon as her car appeared they all ran over.

She was so happy she almost cried. “Why, bless your hearts!” she kept saying, again and again. Then she sat down and spread the jewelry out in her lap. “They were lost last fall when we were cleaning house,” she explained. “I thought they must have been stolen. I had given them up long ago. They were my mother’s rings and I’ve kept them all these years in remembrance of her. It isn’t that any one of them is worth a tremendous amount of money. It’s just because she wore them. Why, I can remember her wearing this garnet brooch just as if it were yesterday. It used to nestle in a white frothy ruffle at her throat, and when she sang in church it would twinkle like a star. This little locket was mine when I was a baby. Oh! I’m so thankful and so happy about this. How can I ever thank you?”

“Butchie really found it,” Davey said. “He found it in your trash heap one day early this summer.”

“Yes, but Buick really deserves the credit,” Janie intervened, “because if he hadn’t discovered the hiding place, Butchie would never have given it up, never.”

Mrs. Saunders kissed them all and cried a little, and then she called them into her kitchen. There was a basket of fruit on the table and she gave Butch a big shiny banana. Then she went to the icebox and cut the bones out of two pieces of steak. “Here,” she said, wrapping them up. “Give these to Buick. He’s a fine smart dog. I want each one of you children to have something too.” She opened her purse and before they could say a word she had given each child a crisp, new one-dollar bill. “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Saunders,” Janie said. “But Mom will never let us keep this. I know she won’t.”

“Oh, yes she will!” Mrs. Saunders assured her. “You’ll never know what it means to me to have my mother’s jewelry again, and you were very good children and you’ll need some money for buying firecrackers pretty soon.” They thanked her again and hurried home.

Sure enough, Mom was distressed about so much money, but Grandma said, “Don’t feel badly about it, Elizabeth. Mrs. Saunders was happy to get her purse back and it gave her a lot of satisfaction to be able to reward the children. People should be allowed to be a little extravagant once in a while. It’s good for them.”

“What are you going to do with your fortune?” Daddy inquired. Janie shook her head. “I don’t know yet,” she answered, “except that I want to spend it all at once and not let it disappear in little dribbles of nickels and dimes.”

“I’m going to buy some ‘minnies’ for casting,” Bill said. “I’ve been looking at some in the hardware store.”

James declared he was going to spend his for a huge model airplane he had long coveted, and Davey said he was going to give his to Butch. “Because Butch really found the purse,” he said, “and all he got was a banana.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Janie, “What would a monkey do with a dollar bill?” But Daddy gave him a hug and said, “That’s right, Davey. You take good care of Butch.”

By four o’clock Aunt Claire’s car came around the bend in the road and sharp-eyed James called out, “Someone is with her, a girl in a white dress. I can see her from here.”

“It’s Katy,” cried Jane, jumping up and down for joy. “It’s Katy. It’s Katherine Pelt.”

The car stopped in the back yard and Billy took Katherine’s suitcase and Janie gave her a quick hug.

Katy was well liked by the Murray children. She was a little older than Janie, small, slim, and dark. The youngest child in a family of six, she was what Daddy called “well socialized.” She was quiet without being shy, jolly without being boisterous, and she never made a nuisance of herself.

“What in the world do you have in that big package?” asked Janie. Katy smiled. “A chicken,” she said. “From my mother to your mother.”

“Hurray!” cried Billy, and David and James began to chant:

“Katy brought a chick-en, Katy brought a chick-en.”

The little procession came down through the rock garden to the cottage porch. Aunt Claire was amazed to hear about Mrs. Saunders’ purse and she was eager to tell Grandma and Mom all that she had seen and heard in town. Jane took Katy to her room, and then they raced for the bathhouse to get into their swimming suits. Daddy and the boys came swimming too, and the boys all but stood on their heads in order to impress the visitor. Mom and Aunt Claire came out to the raft and there was a lot of shouting and leaping and calling back and forth.

Janie rested by floating on her back. Swimming in the same lake with the boys was enough to make any one want to rest. They were like seals, in and out constantly, diving, splashing and churning the water to a froth with their antics. Billy dove and swam as effortlessly as a fish. Angular James cut through the water swiftly, but his diving wasn’t as accomplished as that of his older brother. Davey was the prize. He still swam “dog-fashion,” and panting and dripping he would wriggle his way up on the raft and shout: “Watch me, fellows! I’m going to jump off.” He would close his eyes, grasp his nose with one hand, and then lifting the other arm high over his head and flexing his knees he would give a mighty leap into the air and land with a splash that would all but take his breath away. One or two performances of that kind would exhaust a grown person, but not Davey. He would leap in and out of the water for an hour at a time, and then say, “Do I hafta?” when it came time for them to go in.

Katy and Jane slept in the big double bed in the corner bedroom that night. There was so much to talk about. Katy had just returned from a trip through New England and when she described the Witch House at Salem, Janie held her breath and shivered.

“Katy! Weren’t you afraid to go in there?”

“No, not in the beginning. It looked just like any other old house. Our guide opened a door and led us down a dark, narrow stairway. I didn’t like it very well, but it was too late to change my mind, because there wasn’t room to turn around. The stairway led to the dungeon where the witches were kept before they were hanged. It was a big dark cellar room lighted by one small barred window. Br’r’rr, I got back up those stairs again as fast as I could.”

“But Katy, how could anyone be so silly as to believe in witches? I’ve always thought a witch was a Hallowe’en decoration.”

“People used to believe in witches long ago. The trouble in Salem started with Tituba, a slave girl, telling stories to some little girls. She told tales of voodoo and black magic, and she must have frightened the children half out of their wits, because when bedtime came they shuddered and screamed and saw things in dark corners. The village doctor was called and he said they were bewitched.”

“But why?” asked Janie. “How could he tell?”

“I don’t know, except that he could see that they didn’t have measles or mumps or anything of that sort, and I suppose he just had to think of something in order to earn his fee. The naughty little girls enjoyed being the center of attention, and when they were questioned they accused Tituba of being a witch, and she was tried and hanged.”

“Oh! How perfectly awful.”

“Yes, but that wasn’t all. The story spread and belief in witchcraft grew until there wasn’t an old lady in Salem who was safe. Even the wife of a minister was accused. When the governor’s wife was suspected the trials came to an end, but not until nineteen persons had been hanged on Gallows Hill and two died in prison.”

“Katy,” quavered Jane. “Turn on the light, and don’t let’s talk about it any more.”

Katy reached for the light switch, and the familiar room clicked into view.

“Now,” said Janie, propping up her pillows, “tell me how you make those little pin curls you have all across the top of your head.”

About ten o’clock Mom opened the door a crack and looked them over. “I know you’re both sound asleep,” she said. “And I know you wouldn’t be interested, but just in case you should be awake, there’s a bottle of cold root beer in the refrigerator.” They tumbled out of bed, giggling and paraded to the kitchen.

Grandma and Aunt Claire said “good night” and started back to the little cottage. Mom turned off the porch lights. They sat in darkness watching the shadows and the bright moonlight on the lawn and on the lake. There was no sound but the whispering of the poplar leaves and the gentle slapping of the waves against the shore. Janie leaned back in the wicker rocking chair and sipped her root beer. Strains of “_Midsummer Night’s Dream_” seemed to float down through the silver night. She wiggled her toes in ecstasy. “It seems a shame to waste a night like this sleeping,” she said. “I’d like to walk forever in the dew and the moonlight.”

Katy broke the spell. She had a deep, sturdy voice, strangely out of place in her slim little body and pixie face. “You’d probably step on a frog,” she said, and they all laughed.

“Rinse out your glasses and run to bed like good children,” said Mom. “There’s going to be a lot of planning to do in the morning. Do you realize that the Fourth of July is only a week off?”

“Ooooooooh!” Janie squealed, giving her mother a big hug. “I like the Fourth of July almost as much as Christmas.” Good nights were whispered once more and in a little while everyone was fast asleep.

James woke the family by falling out of bed. He gave out a roar of indignation and began to beat Billy, who by this time was only half awake. “You pushed me!” he cried. “You kicked me out of bed.” Billy blinked and rolled to the other side of the bed to avoid a pillow in the face. Suddenly James stopped dead. He looked astonished and then he burst out laughing. He laughed so that he bent over double and held his sides.

“You didn’t kick me out of bed,” he gasped. “I dreamed I was riding a horse and the horse kicked me, and I guess I just woke up now.”

Mom called from the foot of the stairs. “If you boys are going to have a roughhouse, I wish you’d have it out on the lawn.”

“I was only dreaming,” James called down. Mrs. Murray sighed. “If that was only a dream,” she said, “may heaven preserve us when you get a nightmare.”

Davey wandered out in his pajamas and inquired if any one had seen his shoes. “Butchie had them last,” he said. “He hid them before I went to bed last night.”

Katy poked Jane in the ribs and Jane dug her head deep into her pillow. “Let’s ask your Mother if we can go in swimming before breakfast. Wake up, sleepy head.” She reached down and tickled the toes of her sleepy victim. With a shriek, Janie was on her feet and wide awake.... The Murrays were off on another day.

Swimming was perfect. The lake was calm as a pond and just cool enough to be bracing. They came in when Mom called “Breakfast,” and raced for the bathhouse, leaving wet foot prints on the boards of the pier. They rubbed each others’ backs vigorously with the big rough towels and ran a comb through their damp curls. “I wish it would be summer all the year round,” said Jane, as she slipped her bare feet into play shoes. She wore a blue cotton skirt and a white blouse. “These are the kind of clothes I like.”

“I don’t know,” said Katherine reasonably. “I like a change. My brother Jim lived in the tropics for two years, and he says that summer all the year round can be very monotonous. I like to bundle up and go tobogganing in the winter, and I like to dress up in a pretty suit and hat for Easter.”

“Yes,” said Janie, “I suppose you’re right.” They hung their towels to dry and walked up to the cottage for breakfast.

Aunt Claire was squeezing orange juice and she looked up as the girls came in. “There’s something down at the farmers’ that might interest you,” she said. “I took a walk this morning before breakfast, and you know that old brown cow he’s had in the front pasture? Well, she has a calf, newly born. It has clean, soft fur like a baby deer, and beautiful big brown eyes, and very wobbly legs.”

The children were delighted and right after breakfast they all trooped down the road to inspect the new arrival. Old mother cow stood patiently chewing grass while they hung over the rail and admired her baby.

“Aw, look at him,” murmured Billy. “Isn’t he cute? I wish I could go in there and stroke him.”

“Oh no, you don’t,” said Janie. “That’s why they have glass partitions in nurseries. Look, but mustn’t touch.”

It was James who saw him first. He glanced down the road and then grabbed Janie by the arm. “Look,” he squeaked. “There he is.... Here he comes.... That man!” They all turned, and there, trudging up the road toward them, was the big, dirty old man who had chased them off his lot the day they caught “old rubber-back.”

“Oh boy!” said Billy, “Let’s run!”

“We can’t run home,” said James. “We’d have to pass him. Let’s cut down through the lower lot and then go home along the shore.” They ducked across the road and then slid down the steep bank that led to the lower lot. By running along one side of a hedge they kept out of sight until they reached the lake shore, and there they stopped for a moment and took off their shoes and socks. After they caught their breath they waded home in the shallow water.

“Are you kids crazy?” asked Katherine. “Why do you have to run like Indians when you see that man?”

“He chased us one day, and threatened to give us a licking just because we took a drink out of his old well,” said Bill. “Mom said we should be kind to him because he had a lot of trouble, but we’re just going to keep far, far away from him. He’s an old crank.”

They sat on their own pier when they reached home and dried their feet in the sun. Mom called from the cottage, “Does anyone want to ride along? We’re going over to Deerpath and do some shopping.”

“Oh happy day!” cried Janie, and she raced ahead of Katy and the boys. She ran to her room and picked up her piggy bank. By inserting the blade of a smooth table knife and by skillful shaking, she extracted one smooth, new paper dollar, a nickel, and three pennies. “My fortune,” she announced proudly. “I’m going to buy fire crackers.”

_Chapter Seven_

_A Trip to Deerpath_

“I don’t know where we’re going to put all of you,” laughed Aunt Claire. “I think this car was originally intended to hold five passengers.”