Part 7

A fat china pig stood on Jane’s dresser. He made no jingle as she shook him. Billy and James made money cutting grass in the spring and summer, and shoveling snow in the winter. It seemed they could always earn a nickel or a dime, but Janie dearly loved an ice-cream cone or a new hair bow, and her allowance vanished almost as soon as it appeared.

“Piggy, old fellow,” she promised, patting his fat sides. “I’m going to feed you today.”

Mom was down at the farmer’s buying eggs, so Janie talked it over with Grandma.

“I suppose I could help weed Mrs. Williams’ garden like the boys do, but it does get so hot, and the mosquitoes are quite bad.”

Grandma said, “Um H’m,” and continued to knit. Janie leaned closer and confided, “You know, I made breakfasts for a while last summer, but I had to give that up. I had so much trouble waking up.”

“How about helping Aunt Claire cut green beans?”

“Oh, please! I just can’t bear to cut green beans,” wailed Jane. “I must find something more ... well ... more interesting.”

Grandma clicked her needles and said: “By the time you’re as old as I am, young lady, you’ll find that most ways of earning money are neither interesting nor easy. You’ll learn that you just grab hold of the job at hand and stick to it till it’s finished.”

Mom came in just then and Janie told her of her great poverty and her dire need. “Why I have just the thing for you, dear. I met Mrs. Peters at church last Sunday, and she said that she and her husband would like to go to the movies Saturday night if they only had someone to take care of Sammy.”

Janie’s eyes lit up. “Oh Mom, I know him. He likes me. I could take care of him easily.”

“Yes,” said her mother, carefully putting down the egg basket. “I think you could. Why don’t you run down the road and ask Mrs. Peters right now?”

“Here I go,” said Janie, with enthusiasm.

Sammy was playing in the garden when she got there. He was a dear little boy, about two and a half years old, with big brown eyes and short dark curly hair. He was delighted to see Jane and offered to give her a ride in his wheelbarrow. Jane laughed and said “Oh no, Sammy. I’m much too big for your wheelbarrow. I’d be like Goldilocks and the baby bear’s chair.”

Mrs. Peters came to the door and called “Hello” to Janie and asked her to come in. The cottage was one of the most attractive on Oak Lake, and as Janie looked around her she thought of what fun it would be to spend the evening here.

“Mrs. Peters,” she started, “Mom said that perhaps you might want me to take care of Sammy one of these Saturday evenings while you and Mr. Peters went to the movies.”

Mrs. Peters looked pleased. “Why Janie, that’s so kind of you, but aren’t you quite young for such a responsibility?”

“I’m thirteen,” said Janie proudly. “My mother gives me lots of responsibilities. I take care of my brothers almost as well as she does.”

Mrs. Peters smiled. “Yes, I’m sure you do, dear, and you’ll get along splendidly with Sammy, too. He likes you already. Come down Saturday evening about seven, and Mr. Peters and I will take you home again about eleven o’clock. We’ll give you a dollar.”

A DOLLAR! Whew! That was more money than she ever made in one day before. “Oh thank you, Mrs. Peters. I’ll be here at seven o’clock on Saturday. Good-by. Good-by Sammy!”

Janie’s legs flew back down the road. Billy and James were sitting on top of the stone posts waiting for the mailman. When Janie told them her news they looked pleased and impressed. “Golly, Jane. A dollar is real money. What are you going to do with it?”

“It will be the first dollar I ever earned and I’m going to do something special with it. I don’t know what it will be yet, though.”

“Oh, boy!” said James. “Guess I’ll get a job too.”

Mrs. Murray smiled as her daughter’s eager face appeared in the doorway. “So you’re going to take care of Sammy. Congratulations.”

“H’m,” said Grandma still clicking away at her knitting. “I’ll save my congratulations for a while, and in the meantime I’ll wish you good luck.”

Saturday evening came at last, and Janie started off down the road. Mom called after her: “Honey, why don’t you take one of the boys with you?”

Jane looked hurt. “Why, Mom! I don’t need any help.”

“All right then. I thought you might be lonely.”

The Peters were ready to leave and Mrs. Peters had prepared a list of instructions and left them on the telephone stand. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Peters,” said Jane confidently. “Everything is going to be just fine.”

Everything _was_ just fine until the car started away, and then young Sammy threw back his head and began to cry. He ran to the garden gate and called after the disappearing car, “Mommy! Daddy! Come back! I want to go with you!” Jane put her arms around him and gave him her brightest smile.

“They’ll come back, Sam. Now, let’s play ball.” Sam’s face cleared just a little and the two of them tossed the ball around on the lawn. Janie wanted to quit after the first few minutes, but not Sammy. He was having a fine time and when Janie sank down on the grass, panting for breath, he urged her on. “No stop, Janie. More ball, more ball!”

“Enough ball” said the amateur nursemaid, drawing him down beside her. “Now, I’ll tell you a story. I’ll tell you a story about Pinocchio.” Sammy’s eyes sparkled. He clapped his hands and his short black curls danced as he settled down on Janie’s lap. “Three Bears,” he coaxed. “Three Bears, Little Red Riding Hood.” Janie’s mind leaped back nimbly to her not so far distant childhood.

“Once upon a time,” she started, and Sammy relaxed. She rambled on and on. The Three Bears wandered through the legendary forest and Sammy shook his head at the empty porridge bowls. Little Red Riding Hood escaped from the wicked wolf and Sammy rejoiced. This was easy. This was much less strenuous than a ball game. She told of the adventures of Little Black Sambo and Snow White. Sammy was like a lamb.

“More story, Janie,” he begged. “More Three Bears, Little Red Riding Hood.”

Janie laughed and patted his hand. “Now I’m going to tell you about Pinocchio. ‘Once upon a time there was a stick of wood.’” Sammy listened. He marveled at the stick that could talk. He laughed at the ridiculous nose. He laughed when Pinocchio ran away. When poor Pinocchio returned from his wanderings and sat down at the fire to dry his feet, he looked expectant. When she told how the wooden feet burned off he rolled on the grass in glee.

Janie was indignant. “Why Sammy, you heartless little wretch. It hurts to have your feet burned off. You mustn’t laugh at anything so sad.” Obligingly, Sammy’s face fell. “Poor Pinocchio,” he said, and the tears started down his fat cheeks. Janie hastened to soften his grief. “Geppeto will make him some new feet.” But Sammy was determined to mourn if mourning was called for. In vain Janie tried to change the subject. Sammy wept. He cried until his face was wet with tears and looking up Jane saw her brother Bill at the gate.

“Oh, Billy,” she exclaimed. “I never was so glad to see you. I can’t cheer this child up.”

Billy wore his most impish expression, “I thought you didn’t need any help.”

Janie’s eyes flashed, “Bill Murray,” she exploded. “If you think this is funny, if you think this is any time for one of your jokes....”

Bill entered the yard and gathered the sobbing Sammy up in his arms. “Easy, old girl, easy,” he said. “Remember your temper.”

Janie bit her lip, then she rose up grimly, put one foot in back of her and gave a tremendous kick that sent her shoe flying up in the air. Coming down it lodged in the rain gutter and Billy roared with laughter. Sammy was reminded once more of the ball game.

“More ball, Janie,” he cried. “More ball.”

Janie quickly diverted his attention. “Bed time for little boys,” she said. “Sammy is going to put his pajamas on, brush his teeth, say his prayers, and go to bed.” Billy helped get his shoe laces untied, but he wanted to wash his face and hands by himself, and he dawdled for ten minutes brushing his teeth. He made quite an issue of wearing a certain pajama suit with a rabbit embroidered on the pocket, instead of the one his mother had laid out, but at last everything was settled to his satisfaction, and he said his prayers and climbed into bed.

It was quiet for a while. Billy worked at a crossword puzzle and Janie read, but she could hear the creak, creak of the springs as Sammy walked around on his bed. She looked at the instruction sheet once more, as if to draw inspiration from the written words. Mrs. Peters had written: “Bed at 7:30,” and here it was half past eight and Sammy still awake.

“What will I do, Bill? He won’t go to sleep.”

Billy took the matter in hand.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Sam,” he said. “If you’ll lie down on your bed and go to sleep, I’ll stand on my head.”

Sammy looked interested, and he lay down expectantly watching his entertainers. Janie sat down on a rocking chair, and Billy proceeded to stand on his head. The performance was a great success.

“More, more,” cried bright-eyed Sammy. “More stand on head!”

Billy rubbed his noggin and went back to work, but this time one hand slipped on the rug. As he struggled for his balance one heel caught in a pedestal holding a large Boston fern, and down came Billy, pedestal and fern with a great crash.

Sammy laughed and clapped his hands, but Janie rushed over to where he lay. “Billy! Oh Billy! Are you hurt?”

He shook his head groggily, and bits of jardiniere clattered to the floor. “No,” he said. “I’m all right, but I surely made a mess.” He started downstairs to get a broom and a dust pan, pulling Boston fern out of his hair as he went.

Sammy tried to climb out of bed, but Janie persuaded him to lie down again. “Go to sleep now,” she said gently, and she started to leave the room, but Sammy had another idea.

“Sammy want a drink.”

“I’ll get one for you right away,” promised Jane, and returned with a small glass of water.

“Sammy want a big drink.”

“Try this first, and if you’re still thirsty, I’ll bring some more.” Jane held the glass to his lips, but he bobbed as he stepped forward on the mattress, and part of the drink dribbled on the front of his pajamas.

“Oh!” she gasped. “Sit down for a moment while I get something dry for you to sleep in.”

By nine o’clock he was back in bed, and Janie was sitting in the room with him rocking and singing lullabies. It was warm and quiet, and Janie was very sleepy, but not Samuel. Whenever she faltered he urged her on. “More Humpty Dumpty, Janie. More Rockaby Baby.” Wearily Jane complied.

Billy had been reading downstairs and holding a wet towel to his head. Now, thinking that Sammy had dropped off to sleep, he tiptoed up the stairs. “Creak!” went a loose board. Sammy sat bolt upright.

“Mommy!” he cried. “Mommy’s home.”

Billy’s round face appeared at the top of the stairs and Sammy screamed in disappointment.

“Oh!” he cried. “I want my Mommy,” and he turned on his guardians with infantile rage. “Go home Janie. Billy, go home!”

Janie tried to quiet him, but he was over tired and over stimulated, and he threw his pillow on the floor and sobbed.

“I’ll go home,” said Bill. “I guess I wasn’t much help. Good-by, Sammy, old fella. Good-by, Jane.”

Jane gathered Sammy up in her arms and smoothed his bed. All the fight was out of him. He snuggled up against her with a tired sigh, and was asleep almost as soon as she put him back on the pillow.

Mom looked up curiously as Billy walked in. He had a bump on his head, and bits of fern and plant dirt still stuck to his hair.

“What in the world happened to you?”

“I’ve been down at the Peters helping Jane take care of Sammy, but I was thrown out.”

“Did Jane send you home?”

“No, Sammy did.”

Mom was on her feet in an instant, all concern. “Why that poor child,” she said. “Down there all alone taking care of him.” She reached for a sweater and started out the door. Billy trotted along at her side.

“I helped her, Mom. I did everything I could think of.”

Arriving at the Peters’ cottage, Mom pushed the gate open and hurried up the walk. She knocked and Janie appeared, completely unruffled.

“Janie,” cried Mom. “What happened? What’s wrong with little Sam. Is he feverish?”

“No, Mom,” Jane answered calmly. “It was just a tantrum. I put him back to bed and he’s fast asleep.”

Standing there, one step below her daughter on the steps Mom suddenly felt completely inadequate.

“You run along home, Mom,” said Jane, much as she would have spoken to one of the children. “I’ll be all right.”

Billy and Mom started back home, and Janie sank down on one of the big chairs. She looked at the inviting stacks of magazines that she had planned to read during the evening. It was cold and she was very sleepy. Mrs. Peters had said that she should find a lunch in the refrigerator, but she was too tired to be hungry. A hoot owl shrieked in the trees outside, and shivering, she wished that she hadn’t been so lofty in refusing Mom’s offer of company and assistance.

It was ten-thirty. How the time dragged. She went upstairs and peeked in at Sammy. He was sound asleep. Back down stairs again, she tuned in the radio, but there was nothing but the blare of dance bands, strident and unfamiliar. Her jaws ached with yawning. Would they never come home? She curled up at one end of the davenport, and pulled the afghan around her. It was so quiet she could almost hear the lapping of the waves on the shore. One by one, a few late cars whizzed by, but still the Peters didn’t come. Her head dropped lower and lower, and then with a jerk, she was awake again.

“Mustn’t go to sleep, Janie,” she said aloud. “Remember, you’re responsible here.”

She walked up and down for a while, but it made echoing sounds.

“Oh, dear. I wish I had let Mom stay.”

At last a car slowed down for the curve, and coasted into the Peters’ entrance. Janie flew to the door.

“Hello!” she called eagerly. “Hello!”

“Hi,” called the Peters pleasantly. “How is everything?”

“Fine, just fine,” said Janie in her relief to see them again.

“Get your sweater, dear,” said Mrs. Peters, “and I’ll take you home. How did you get along? Is Sammy asleep?”

“Oh yes, he went to sleep. I sang to him and told him stories,” and then she remembered the Boston fern.

“Oh, Mrs. Peters,” she choked, and all the strain of the evening hit her at once and she was crying.

“Billy stood on his head, and broke your fern!”

Mrs. Peters looked puzzled, amused, and sympathetic all at once. She patted Janie on the shoulders as they started out the door. “Accidents will happen,” she said, “and boys will be boys, but I’m glad that you didn’t have any trouble with Sammy. He’s such a dear, good boy. I looked in at him sleeping just now. He looked just like an angel.”

Janie heard it all in a daze of weariness. “Oh yes,” she agreed drowsily. “A little angel.”

As they reached the Murrays’ gate, Mrs. Peters thanked her again, and pressed a dollar bill into her hand. Janie said “Goodnight” and walked wearily down the stone steps through the rock garden, and then up the brick steps to the porch.

Mom was waiting up for her. “Come in, baby,” she said. “I have your bed open and your pajamas laid out. You can sleep late tomorrow morning.”

Janie thanked her, and then sank down on her bed, almost too tired to take off her shoes, but in her right hand she grasped a crisp one-dollar bill.

She reached for her piggybank, and patted his sleek flower-decorated sides. “Piggy,” she said, “if you knew how hard it was for me to earn this money, you’d be really grateful.” She stuffed the dollar in the slot. “Here you are,” she whispered. “I promised I’d feed you, and don’t say that Janie doesn’t keep her promises.”

_Chapter Eleven_

_The Front Seat on the Bus_

The storm was followed by three weeks of clear, hot weather. The lake was soft and clean, like rain water. The garden thrived in the heat, and the little rabbits grew sleek and fat, and kept everyone busy gathering clover for them.

One morning Janie awoke to hear the clop-clop of the farmer’s horses as they walked down the road. They were drawing an elaborate machine painted bright red and yellow, like a circus wagon. The farmer, all in faded blue, looked drab by comparison.

“Mom,” she called. “Look at the fancy wagon the farmer has this morning. What is he going to do with that?”

Mom raised her shade, and the boys popped their heads out of the upstairs windows.

“That is a brand new reaper,” she answered. “My, doesn’t it glisten! This must be the first time he’s had it out. That machine cuts the grain, then ties it into sheaves. He’ll stack them in yellow shocks all over the field, and Aunt Claire will sunburn her nose while she puts it all on canvas.”

Janie wriggled her way back to the middle of the bed, and reached down to the floor for her slippers. Harvesting meant August, and August meant hayfever. Hayfever meant going to town to the doctor’s office for _shots_. She made a face, but it wasn’t so bad, really. Just a quick little pinch, like getting caught with a pin.

“Mom,” she called again. “When do I go to town for my shots?”

Mrs. Murray was brushing her teeth, and the answer sounded a little bubbly at first. “You can start any time now,” she answered. “How would you like to go in tomorrow morning?”

Jane looked puzzled. “Daddy won’t be here. Who would take me?”

“You can go in on the bus, and come back with Daddy.”

All by herself on the bus! Janie glowed. Billy asked if he couldn’t go along, but Mom said, “Not this time, Billy. I need you to help cut grass.”

Janie thought about the trip all day. She washed her hair, and put it up in pin curls all over her head, pressed her blue dress, and brushed her hat. She put some pink polish on her fingernails. Mom offered to let her take one of her prettiest handkerchiefs, but what Grandma loaned her was the best of all.

“Come here, Janie,” she said, and she unfastened her wrist watch. “You’ll be needing a watch to tell the time, what with having to meet a bus, and keep an appointment at the doctor’s and all. I want you to take my watch.” Janie’s eyes popped.

“But, mind you take good care of it, and don’t let it drop.”

“Oh, thank you, Grandma,” said Jane, kissing her. “Thank you. I’ll take ever so good care of it. I’ll be just as careful as I know how.” She slept that night with the little watch near her ear. It seemed to talk to her in a fast small voice. “Going to town on the bus,” it said over and over again. “Going to town on the bus.”

She slept late the next morning. By the time she was dressed the boys were off fishing, and Grandma and Mom were finishing their coffee on the porch.

“Hurry up, sleepy head,” Mom said. “It’s nine o’clock now, and the bus leaves at ten minutes after ten. You’ll just about have time to eat your breakfast and gather your things together before it’s time to leave.”

Janie drank her milk and decided against the cereal. She reached for a piece of coffee cake, all crumbly with powdered sugar on the top, but Grandma changed her mind for her.

“If I were you, Lady Jane,” she said, “I’d eat my cereal. You have a long day ahead of you, and besides, how would a fashionable creature like you look with powdered sugar all over the front of her dress?” Jane giggled and dug into her corn flakes.

“Is there anything I can buy for you, Grandma? Do you want me to telephone for you while I’m in town?”

The senior Mrs. Murray cocked her head and thought. “Not unless it would be some embroidery cotton,” she said. She searched through a large paper box that must have contained hundreds of skeins of bright-colored embroidery cotton. “Here, this is it.” She extracted a few strands of salmon colored thread. “Put this in your purse, and see if you can match it for me. Here,” she added, pressing a coin into the palm of Janie’s hand, “buy something for yourself.”

“Grandma! That’s too much money.”

“Well then, buy an extra hair ribbon to match your yellow sweater.” Janie laughed. She dropped the money and the thread into her purse, and ran to get her hat. She was driving over to the station with Mrs. Williams. When Mrs. Williams took her husband down to the bus station in the morning, everyone who wanted to go to town that day seemed to be jammed into the car with her. She tooted at the gate, and Janie kissed her mother and Grandmother hastily, and ran up the garden steps.

“Hello, Mrs. Williams,” she said, a little out of breath. “Do you think we’ll be on time?” Mrs. Williams smiled as she eased the shiny, dark car into second gear. “Of course we’ll be on time,” she said. Her voice was deep and rich, and when she said “of course”, it sounded like “of coss.” Janie never tired of looking at her and listening to her talk. She was so pretty, and she could play the piano just like someone you’d hear at a concert. She had crossed the ocean half a dozen times. She had gone to the opera in Paris, and she had climbed a mountain in Switzerland. She had flown to South America. It was no wonder she said “Of coss” about meeting a bus. Janie sighed with joy, and shifted a little on the seat.

They came to the place where the railroad used to be, and then they turned onto the main highway, and Mrs. Williams faced the direction from which the bus would come. There were other people waiting to go to town. A young woman carried a little baby on one arm, and a black, oilcloth covered bag on the other. The day was warm, but the baby was wrapped from head to foot in a thick pink blanket. Even his little face was pink. When I have a baby, Jane thought, I’ll let him stay uncovered in the summer. Poor little fellow. He looks like a boiled shrimp.

A stout lady in a summery print dress held a parasol over her head, and squinted down the road every so often to see if the bus was coming. A boy, about fourteen years old, sat on a large stone at the roadside. He was dressed in a Boy Scout uniform, and he carried a shoe box, which he handled gingerly. I’ll bet it’s eggs, thought Jane. I’ll bet it’s two dozen eggs that he’s taking into town for someone.

Mrs. Williams looked out of the window. “Here it comes,” she cried. “It will be here in just a minute.” Jane hugged her purse. The fifty cents in her hand made a sharp red ring where she held it tight.

Jane was out of the car and over at the side of the road with the others before she knew it. “Good-by, Mrs. Williams,” she called. “Thank you for the ride.”

The boy scout waited for the lady with the pink baby to get on ahead of him. The stout lady with the parasol came next. Janie clutched her purse and her hat and climbed the rubber covered steps, and the boy scout was right behind her, still balancing his eggs. She dropped her fifty cents into the glass box, and looked around for a seat. “That will be fifty-five cents, Miss,” said the driver. “Oh dear,” said Janie, and she searched quickly through her purse for a nickel. She found one, and the bus began to roar and tremble as it turned out on the highway.

The seats were pretty well taken by the time it came to Oak Lake, but there was one seat that Janie had always wanted, and glory be, it was vacant now. Perhaps none of the grown folks wanted that seat. It was right up in front, across from the driver. It faced the aisle instead of facing forward the way the others did, but Janie didn’t mind. She sat side ways and leaned her arms on the window sill. It was glorious. They gained speed as they rolled along through the gentle Wisconsin hills. Farmers were at work everywhere, busy with harvesting the grain. It would be a fine day for playing White Horse.

Now the houses were much closer together. They were nearing the city. Janie knew every landmark well. She had been traveling this road ever since she was a baby, but things looked different from the front seat of the big bus, just as the trees in the yard looked different when you crawled up and sat on the roof, and then they rolled down a busy shopping street.