Part 4

“‘Take your wraps off here, Sarah,’ she said. ‘Aggie has company in the sitting room.’ I didn’t hear anyone talking, but I took off my coat. Then Aggie called me and I went into the sitting room, but I stopped in amazement just inside the door.

“In the center of the room was a table set with Mother’s best linen and china and silver, and while I gazed at it, out from the hall rushed Annie and Callie and seven other little girls all near my own age dressed up in their Sunday frocks and each one thrusting some sort of package toward me.

“I couldn’t say a word—I just burst into tears. I went upstairs with Mother to wash my face and put on my best dress. She told me Aggie had written invitations on cards she had bought in Clayville, and Charlie had carried them to the girls that morning. Then I told Mother all about the party we had planned to have, and she said not to think any more about it but that she was glad I had told her.

“We played games—‘Pussy wants a corner’ and ‘Button, button, who’s got the button’ and ‘Hide the thimble’—and asked riddles and had a good time.

“Then we had supper. There were cold roast chicken, tiny hot biscuits and peach preserves, three kinds of cake, and hot chocolate that Aggie had learned to make in Clayville and none of us had ever tasted before.

“Mother and Aggie had given me those presents in the morning just to fool me. Aggie had brought me a lovely story book, and Mother had a string of pretty pink beads for me. Charlie gave me a little basket he had whittled out of a peach seed, and from Father I got a silver dollar.

“And now good night, pleasant dreams.”

THE LOCUSTS

“Grandma,” said Bobby one evening, “did you ever see a locust—a seventeen-year locust? And why are they called seventeen-year locusts?”

“Oh, yes, I’ve seen locusts and heard them, too,” answered Grandma, taking up her knitting. “They are called seventeen-year locusts because they come every seventeen years. They lay their eggs in a tree. These eggs hatch tiny worms, called larvae, which fall to the ground and stay there for seventeen years changing slowly until they have turned into locusts. They live only about thirty days, but they often do a great deal of damage in this time. One year when I was a little girl all our fruit was eaten by the locusts and many of the trees were killed. They ate the garden stuff, the potato tops, and even the flowers, so it must have been somewhat as it was in Pharaoh’s time.

“You remember Pharaoh was the king of Egypt who refused to let the children of Israel go. For this God sent the plagues on Pharaoh and the people of Egypt. One of these plagues was the locusts. God caused a strong east wind to blow all day and all night, and this wind brought the locusts. They were every place—all over the ground, in Pharaoh’s house, and in the houses of his people. They ate all the vegetables and fruits, even the leaves on the trees, so there was nothing green left in all the land. The noise they made must have been awful. When Pharaoh repented, the Lord sent a strong west wind which blew the locusts away, and they were drowned in the Red Sea. Ever since that time people have thought the locusts say ‘Pharaoh.’

“I believe I’ll tell you tonight about the first time I ever heard a locust. Mother wondered one day at dinner whether there were any blackberries ripe yet. She said she wished she had enough for a few pies. So that afternoon I took a pail and started for the blackberry field. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going, for I wanted to surprise Mother. I was afraid that if she knew she mightn’t let me go alone, for she was timid about snakes. Sure enough, I saw a snake nearly the first thing, but it was a harmless little garter snake and scuttled away into the bushes as soon as it heard me.

“There were lots and lots of red berries, but only a few ripe ones here and there. I wandered on and on, thinking every minute I should come to a patch of ripe berries where I could fill my pail in a few minutes. It wasn’t much fun blackberrying all by myself. I scratched my hands and face and tore my dress on the briars and wished many times that I was back home, but I kept on picking until my pail was full.

“I did not realize how far I had gone nor how long I had been out until I noticed that the sun was going down. Then I started to hurry home as fast as I could. But I was tired and my bucket grew heavier with every step, so I often sat down to rest. I rested a long time under a chestnut tree, and then after I had walked miles, it seemed to me, I found myself back under this same tree. I knew it was the same tree because Charlie had cut my initials on it the summer before. I had been going around in a circle! I started out again. I looked to the right and to the left and straight ahead, but I couldn’t find the path.

“I was lost—lost in that great blackberry patch over a mile from home. Night was coming on, and no one knew where I had gone. I wondered where I should sleep if no one found me before it got dark, and what I should eat. Of course I could climb a tree, but I might go to sleep and fall out of it. I shouldn’t starve, for I could eat blackberries, but the very thought of eating any more blackberries made me feel sick.

“I hurried this way and that, trying to find my way out and growing more frightened every minute.

“Then suddenly I heard some one calling to me.

“‘Sa—rah! Sa—rah!’ I heard as plain as plain could be, and I answered them. I screamed at the top of my voice, ‘Here I am! Here I am!’ But the voices—there seemed to be a great many of them—only kept on saying over and over again, ‘Sa—rah! Sa—rah!’

“I ran, stumbling and falling through the bushes, still holding to my precious pail of berries, but I didn’t seem to get any nearer to the folks who were calling me. All the neighbors must be out helping hunt for me, I thought to myself. That was queer, too, for it wasn’t really dark and Mother was used to having me play for hours at a time down by the run or on the hill under the oak trees.

“Presently I came to an open space. There was a group of trees at the far edge, and there under those trees, to my great surprise, stood Mother’s little Jersey cow. I ran toward her, and when she saw me she gave a weak ‘moo.’ But when she tried to move I saw that she was caught fast by the horns in a wild grapevine that grew around the tree. I tried to free her, but I couldn’t. The wild grapevine is very tough and strong, and Jersey was securely fastened by it. I petted her and talked to her and forgot to be afraid any more. Then I happened to think that if she had been there very long she must be thirsty. She was not giving any milk and had been turned out to graze in the pasture field that joined the berry patch and had probably come through a bad place in the fence. I remembered having passed a spring a little way back, and I emptied my berries carefully in a pile on the ground and ran back and filled my bucket with water. But I couldn’t reach Jersey’s mouth, and though she tried frantically to get at the water she couldn’t get her head down to it. I dragged two pieces of old log over and built up a platform. Then I climbed up on it with my bucket of water, and my, how glad Jersey was to get that cool drink!

“Then I sat down on a log to wait for some one to come. To keep from getting lonely I began to say over my memory verses for the next Sunday. I was committing the Twenty-third Psalm and I had just reached the line beginning, ‘He restoreth my soul,’ when I heard them calling again.

“‘Sa—rah! Sa—rah!’ they said just as before. I jumped up and cried out as loud as I could, ‘Here I am! Here I am!’ I was determined to make them hear me this time, and I said it over and over until I was hoarse, and the more I answered the louder the voices seemed to call.

“Then to my joy came a voice I knew. ‘Where are you and what are you doing here?’ it said, and crashing through the bushes came my big brother Stanley. I rushed crying into his arms, and the funny part was that Stanley did not know I was lost. He was on his way home from work on the upper place and had come down to see if the berries were ripe so he could tell Mother. He had heard me calling and had come to find me.

“With his pocket knife he cut the vines that held Jersey, and we drove her slowly back to the pasture field after he had helped me pick up the berries.

“When Stanley and I got home Mother was just starting Charlie out to look for me. She was pleased to get the berries and glad I had found Jersey. Father said Jersey might have starved before he would have missed her, but Mother made a rule that I was never again to go farther away than the oak trees or the run without asking her.

“‘Who was calling me?’ I asked. ‘Some one was calling me. They still are. Listen!’ and there it was again.

“‘Sa—rah! Sa—rah!’

“They all looked puzzled. Then Mother laughed.

“‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I know what she means. Why, that isn’t anyone calling you, dear. That’s the locusts and they say, ‘Pha—raoh! Pha—raoh!’ But it does sound like ‘Sa—rah,’ doesn’t it? And I am very glad you thought they said ‘Sa—rah’ and answered them or Stanley wouldn’t have found you and you might have been up in the berry patch all night.’

“There, that was a long story, wasn’t it? Hurry to bed now, for you know,

“Early to bed and early to rise, Makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.”

ONE FOURTH OF JULY

Grandma had promised the children a Fourth of July story, and Bobby and Alice and Pink drew up their stools and waited eagerly for her to begin.

“Father was going to take us to Clayville to the Fourth of July celebration,” Grandma began. “We were all going except Mother and Nanny Dodds, who was helping us over hay harvest. I had been to Clayville once before.

“‘But that time it was on just a common everyday day,’ as I told Nanny. ‘This will be different.’

“We were to start early—early in the morning—for Clayville was twelve miles away and we did not want to miss a single thing.

“First there would be a parade with two brass bands, then ‘speaking’ on the courthouse steps, and after that an ox roast. In the afternoon there were to be horse races and games. Father promised that we should have supper at the hotel and stay for the fireworks in the evening. I had never seen even a firecracker, and I looked forward to seeing the skyrockets most of all.

“I was to wear a new light calico dress with a little blue flower in it and a blue sash and my ruffled white sunbonnet that was kept for Sundays. I talked so much about going that Mother and my sisters and every one else except Nanny grew dreadfully tired listening to me and begged me to talk of something else.

“Nanny was twenty and bashful and as homely as could be, but I loved her very much. When she made cookies she put a raisin in the center of some of them, and others she sprinkled with sugar. And she made gingerbread men with currant eyes and baked saucer pies and let me scrape the cake bowl. She sewed for my doll and bound up my hurt fingers tenderly and told the nicest stories. There was no end to the things Nanny did for me, but I liked the stories best of all.

“The day before the Fourth, when I sat on the edge of the kitchen table watching Nanny beat eggs for the sponge cake and talking about what I should see the next day, Nanny said in a wistful voice, ‘I’ve never been to Clayville. I always thought I’d like to go, but I never had a chance.’

“This set me thinking. Soon I slid off the table and went in search of Mother. I found her at the spring-house churning.

“‘Mother,’ I said, ‘let’s take Nanny with us tomorrow.’

“‘I’m afraid there isn’t room,’ Mother answered regretfully. ‘There are already five of you, and the surrey is old and not strong.’

“‘Nanny doesn’t weigh much,’ I argued.

“‘I know, dear, but Father is afraid to load the surrey any heavier for fear you’d break down and not get to town at all. I have told Nanny she may go home to see her mother tomorrow.’

“All the rest of the morning I sat under the apple tree in the side yard, thinking. Once when Charlie came through the yard with a jug to fill with water for the men in the hayfield I called him over. Maybe he might offer to let Nanny go in his place. To be sure, I hadn’t much hope of this, but still it was worth trying.

“‘Charlie,’ I said, ‘I think Nanny would like to go to the Fourth of July celebration.’

“‘Sure, who wouldn’t?’ he replied easily. ‘I want to go myself,’ and he went on to the well.

“I tried sister Belle next. I found her picking chickens in the orchard and offered to help. Then presently I suggested to her that she could go to Clayville with the Strangs’, since their surrey would not be crowded as ours would, and then Nanny could go with us. She only laughed scornfully and made me finish picking the chicken I had started.

“I went sadly back to the apple tree.

“‘Nanny wants to go,’ I thought to myself, ‘and I want to go, too, but if I stay at home Nanny could go in my place. It would be a sacrifice,’ I sighed deeply. ‘Preacher Hill says a sacrifice is giving up something you want yourself. I want to go more than I ever wanted anything, but I have lots of things Nanny doesn’t have. I have curly hair and Nanny’s hair is straight. I can read and Nanny can’t. I’ve seen the train and had my dinner at a hotel. I’ve traveled and Nanny’s never been farther from home than Mt. Zion Church.’

“That night after I had said my prayers I put my arms around my Mother’s neck and whispered, ‘Mother, I want Nanny to go in my place tomorrow.’

“‘Why, dear!’ Mother started to protest. But after looking earnestly into my face she said, ‘Do you really want to stay at home and let Nanny go in your place? You must be very, very sure, you know.’

“‘I’m sure, Mother,’ I declared solemnly. ‘Yes, I’m sure I want her to go.’

“‘Well, sleep on it, and if you feel the same in the morning you shall stay with Mother and Nanny may go.’

“I wakened at daylight to find Mother standing beside my bed.

“‘Are you awake, Sarah?’ she asked. ‘They are all up but you.’

“I sat up in bed dazed. I could hear the girls rushing around in their room. From the kitchen came the rattle of dishes and out in the barn the boys were whistling. Suddenly I remembered. It was the Fourth of July!

“‘I haven’t changed my mind, Mother,’ I said yawning sleepily.

“Mother bent down and kissed me before going to tell Nanny. At first Nanny would not hear of it and left off getting breakfast to come and tell me so. I pretended to be too sleepy to talk, so Nanny, urged by Mother, finally went away to get ready, and Mother went down to finish getting the breakfast.

“But I wasn’t a bit sleepy a little later when I jumped out of bed to watch them start.

“Father and Aggie sat on the front seat of the surrey, and Belle, Nanny, and Charlie on the back seat, while Joe, Stanley, and Truman rode horseback. They all looked very fine and grand to me dressed in their best clothes, and I choked back a sob as they drove down the road and out of sight.

“All morning I helped Mother. I did lots of things the girls wouldn’t let me do when they were doing the work. I dried the dishes and fed the chickens and dusted the sitting room and scrubbed the walks.

“Then Mother and I had our lunch out under the apple tree in the side yard—some of everything the girls had put in their lunch basket—fried chicken and sponge cake and green-apple pie. My, but it tasted good! In the afternoon Mother made my doll a new dress, and we went together to hunt the little turkeys and get the cows.

“It was awfully late when the folks got back, but I sat up in bed to see them. Every one of them had brought me something. Spread out on the bed were a flag and a bag of peanuts, a pewter tea set from Father, a sticky popcorn ball, and a sack of peppermint lozenges, but the nicest of all was when Nanny gave me a hug and whispered, ‘I had the grandest time of my life, Sarah, and I reckon it’ll take me a month to tell you about all the things I saw.’

“Now, let me think! What in the world will I tell you about tomorrow night? Oh, I know, but I won’t tell.”

THE BEE TREE

There had been honey for supper, and afterward, before the cozy fire in her room, Grandma was telling Bobby and Alice and Pink about how the bees live in little wooden houses called hives and make the honey from a fluid taken from the heart of the flowers.

“But I knew of some bees once that did not live in a hive but in a hollow tree.” Grandma reached for her work basket and drew out her knitting. “While I put the thumb in Bobby’s mitten I’ll tell you about those bees.”

“When I was a little girl,” she began, “not many people kept bees and we could not buy honey at the store, so honey was considered a great treat. The first beehive I ever saw belonged to Mr. Brierly. The Brierly’s lived on the next farm to us, but between them and us, in a little house on Mr. Brierly’s place, lived a family named Henlen. They were very lazy and hunted and fished and worked just enough to get what money they must have. Mr. Brierly had given them a swarm of bees and helped them make a hive for it, and the Brierlys and the Henlens were the only people in our neighborhood who kept bees.

“Then early in the summer one of Mr. Brierly’s hives swarmed. That is, a swarm of bees left the old hive and wanted to set up in a hive of its own. Usually when a young swarm left the old hive Mr. Brierly gave them a new hive and they settled down contentedly and went to making honey. But this swarm flew away and lighted in a hollow tree on the edge of our woods.

“Mr. Brierly did not find them for several days. Then he told Father he would just leave them where they were, if Father did not care, and when he took the honey he would divide with us. Father told him he was welcome to leave the bees as long as he wanted to and to keep the honey. But Mr. Brierly said Father must take half of the honey or he would not leave the bees. So Father agreed and Mr. Brierly left the bees.

“Every morning when Charlie and I took the cows to pasture we would skip across the field to take a long look at the bee tree. We would watch the bees as they flew in and out the hole in the side of the tree and wondered how much honey they had made and talked about how good it would taste on hot biscuits.

“So all summer the bees worked away, and one day in the fall Mr. Brierly sent Father word that he would be over that week to take the honey. A few mornings later when I came in sight of the bee tree I stopped in amazement. The bee tree was gone! Instead of standing straight and tall like a soldier on guard, it lay flat on the ground. Chips of wood were scattered all around. The bee tree had been cut down.

“I started for home as fast as I could go to tell Father. He wasn’t at the barn, and I went to the house. Back of the house, under a sugar tree, the girls were washing and Charlie was carrying water for them. As I came up Aggie was scolding because one of the washtubs was missing. When I told them about the bee tree they were as excited as I was. Charlie ran to the wheat field where Father was ploughing to tell him, and we girls went in to find Mother.

“Belle declared that whoever stole the honey must have taken the tub to carry it away in. And since the honey was on our land and we knew it was ready to take away and the tub was ours, it would look to Mr. Brierly as if we had had something to do with it. Aggie laughed at her and said, ‘The very idea of anyone thinking we would steal!’ But Mother looked serious.

“Father came right to the house, got on a horse, and rode over to Mr. Brierly’s. Mr. Brierly came back with him, and they examined the fallen bee tree carefully. It had been chopped down. Mr. Brierly said he thought we would have heard the blows down at the house. Father replied coldly that we had heard nothing and knew nothing about it until I had taken the cows to pasture, and wouldn’t have known then if I had not run across to look at the bees. He told him about our tub being gone, too. Aggie said it wasn’t at all necessary to tell that, but Belle said Father was too honest to keep anything back.

“Father imagined that Mr. Brierly thought we knew something about the disappearance of the honey. Of course Father resented this, so the Brierlys and we ceased to be friendly. Mrs. Brierly and Mother had always helped each other to quilt and make apple butter and had exchanged recipes and loaned patterns back and forth, but all this stopped now.

“School started, and Tom and Annie Brierly did not wait for Charlie and me as they had always done. If they had not gone to school before we came along, they waited until we had passed by before they started.

“Charlie and I worried a great deal about the coldness between the two families and the unhappiness it was causing. We were always making plans to discover who took the honey and so clear things up.

“One day when Charlie was eating his dinner at school he noticed that Flora May Henlen had something on her bread that looked like honey. He told me to watch her, and the next day at noon I took my dinner and sat down near Flora May to eat it. Sure enough, it was honey she had on her bread. But then I remembered that they had bees and she had a right to have honey. Still I watched Flora May for several days, and she always had honey on her bread.

“‘Did your bees make lots of honey this year, Flora May?’ I asked her one day.

“‘Oh, yes,’ she answered, ‘every few days the boys bring in a pan of honey.’

“That evening Charlie made an excuse to stop a while with one of the Henlen boys, and in the orchard back of the house he saw their bee hive lying on the ground among some rubbish and rotting leaves.

“We told our discovery at home, and my brother Truman said the Henlens had had no bees at all for months. They had been starved or frozen out the winter before.

“The next morning Father stopped Asa and Longford Henlen as they were passing our house on the way home from mill and told them he knew they had taken the honey. At first they denied all knowledge of the honey, but when they found that in some way Father had found out about it they were scared and admitted that they had chopped down the tree and, finding more honey than they had expected, had taken our tub to carry it away in.

“Mr. Brierly and Father decided that if the boys would work out the pay for the honey and promise not to steal any more they would not tell anyone.

“Mr. Brierly apologized to Father, and Mrs. Brierly and Mother kissed the next time they met, and Tom and Annie began waiting for Charlie and me again, so that everything was all right once more.

“Get the apples, Bobby, please, and tomorrow night, if you say your prayers and go right to sleep tonight, I’ll tell you about—well, it’s an awfully good story I have for tomorrow night.”

BRAIN AGAINST BRAWN

Bobby was feeling his muscle and telling his sisters how strong he wanted to be, and Grandma, hearing him, said, “Of course it’s nice to be strong, Bobby, but strength won’t get anyone very far unless it is combined with brains. I knew a delicate looking boy once who got ahead of half a dozen big strong fellows, not because he was strong, but because he had brains and used them.

“It was long, long ago—the winter my brother Truman taught our home school. Mother didn’t want Truman to take the school, for, though he was eighteen years old, he was a slender, little fellow and his blue eyes and light hair made him look even younger than he really was. But Father said for him to go ahead and see what he could do.