Part 6

“We started for the cornfield, Charlie carrying the poles and the can of bait and I the lunch and the paper sack of pumpkin seed. The pumpkins we were to plant were to be used to feed the stock—cow pumpkins they were called, and they were big and coarse-grained and not good for pies.

“Well, Charlie and I started down at the lower end of the field and we planted a few seeds. But there was such a lot of the seed and the field was so big and the lure of the creek with the shade under the willows and the fish biting was so great that we could think of nothing else. We stopped to examine our bait to see if the worms were still living. When we went back to work Charlie wondered what was the use of planting so many old pumpkins, anyhow, when Father had already planted as many as usual in the upper cornfield.

“‘We might plant a whole lot of seed at once,’ he said, ‘but still it would take us a long time.’

“‘I know what to do!’ I cried, ‘Let’s hide the sack of seed in this old stump and come back tomorrow and plant them.’ After a few half-hearted protests from Charlie, this was what we did. We buried the sack of seed in an old, rotten stump, covered it deep with the soft, rich loam, and away we went to the creek to fish.

“Charlie baited both our hooks with the fishworms, and we would spit on our bait each time for luck. The charm must have worked, for when it was time to go home we had caught a nice lot of sunfish, tobacco boxes, silversides, and suckers. Truman cleaned them for us, and Mother dipped them in corn meal and fried them a golden brown. We had them for supper, and every one said how good they were and no one thought to ask us anything about the pumpkin seeds.

“I thought about them that night after I had gone to bed and wished that we had stayed and planted them as Father had told us to. But then Charlie and I would go down first thing in the morning, dig the sack out of the stump, plant the seeds, and everything would be all right.

“But it began to rain in the night, and it rained all the next day. The day after, it was too wet, and the day after that Charlie was busy. Then it rained again, and after a while I forgot all about the pumpkin seeds. It was several weeks before I thought of them again. You couldn’t guess what made me think of them then, so I will tell you.

“When we went to meeting on Sundays, Charlie and I always tried to remember the text of the sermon to say when we got home, for Mother was almost sure to ask us what it was. One Sunday I was saying it over and over to myself so that I could remember it, when suddenly the meaning of it came to me and I was surprised to find that it had something to do with me. The text was ‘Be sure your sin will find you out,’ and in a flash I knew it meant that if you did anything wrong you couldn’t keep people from knowing about it. Then I thought of the buried pumpkin seed which Charlie and I had meant to go back and plant.

“Father had never said a word about the pumpkins not coming up, though he must surely have noticed it long before this. Perhaps he thought the seed had been bad, but still it was queer he had never mentioned it.

“That night I couldn’t sleep for thinking how wrong it had been for Charlie and me to deceive Father about the pumpkin seed. Even the fact that we had meant to go back and plant them didn’t make me feel any less guilty. When I did fall asleep, I dreamed that the room was full of pumpkins with ugly grinning faces like jack-o’-lanterns. They laughed and mocked at me and pressed closer and closer until I wakened with a frightened cry, and when Mother asked me what had scared me I couldn’t tell her.

“In the morning I talked it over with Charlie. We agreed to go to Father immediately and tell him that we had not planted the pumpkin seeds.

“But Father had gone to Clayville on business for a couple of days. When he came back, before we had a chance to see him alone he told us at dinner before all the others that the pumpkin crop in the bottom cornfield was to be Charlie’s and mine. He said that we could keep as many as we wanted to for jack-o’-lanterns on Hallowe’en and he would pay us ten cents apiece for all the rest. Think of that! Ten cents apiece for all the pumpkins we raised, and we knew that there wouldn’t be any pumpkins! I looked across the table at Charlie, and his face was very red. I couldn’t say a word, but when Father left the table we both followed him and told him all about the pumpkin seeds, and how the text had started us thinking, and everything. Father listened without a word till we had finished. Then much to our surprise he said, ‘I’ve known for a good while what you did with the pumpkin seed. When I saw the number of fish you caught that afternoon, I wondered how you had planted the pumpkin seed so quickly. I had told Mother they were to belong to you two to do with as you pleased, but I did not intend to tell you until later. Then when I found out that you had not planted the seeds I waited for you to come to me. I believe you have learned a lesson from this experience which you will not forget. Come along with me. I want to show you something.’

“Wonderingly, without a word, we followed Father to the cornfield and straight to where the old rotten stump in the lower end of the field had been. But when we got there we could not see the stump, for coming out of it and all over it and completely covering it, were myriads of pumpkin vines—not big strong vines like the ones that grew in the fields, but thin, sickly vines crowding each other for space.

“The soil in the stump had been so rich and light that, though the sack of seeds had been deeply covered, when soaked with rain the seeds had sprouted and forced their way through the sack and up to the light and air. The vines told Father where the pumpkin seeds were as plainly as if they could have spoken.

“And now, good night, my dears, and don’t forget to say your prayers, and I’ll try to think up a good story for next time.”

A SCHOOL FOR SISTER BELLE

“It was during the third year of the war that sister Belle got her certificate to teach. Our school had been closed for a year, first because there were no teachers, all the young men having enlisted, and secondly because there was no money to pay a teacher. The few schools in the county had been given out before Belle got her certificate. She was awfully disappointed, for she wanted to go to the academy in the spring and she didn’t think Father could spare the money to send her, times being so hard.

“But since she couldn’t get a school she would make the best of it. She would help Aggie and Truman and Charlie and me at home, and she promised to teach the Brierly children, too. Then the Orbisons wanted to come, and to save Mother the fuss and dirt so many children would make in the house, Belle said she would hold school in the schoolhouse and let any one attend who wanted to.

“‘It will give me experience, anyway,’ she said, ‘and dear knows the children need some one to teach them!’

“‘Why don’t you let them pay you?’ Aggie suggested. ‘A dollar apiece a month for each pupil wouldn’t be a bit too much.’

“But Belle said some of them couldn’t pay and they were the ones who needed schooling the most. And the ones who could pay probably wouldn’t, because the county should pay for a teacher.

“So one Saturday in October, armed with brooms and buckets, window cloths and scrubbing brushes and a can of soft soap, we set out to clean the schoolhouse. We scrubbed the floor and the desks and polished the stove and cleaned the windows, and on the next Monday, the date set for the opening of all the schools in the district, sister Belle took her place at the teacher’s old desk.

“It wasn’t a very different opening from the one she had planned and looked forward to so eagerly. The only difference was that there would be no payment for Belle at the end of the term.

“The last pupil to start in was Joe Slater. He was a tall, strong boy of seventeen, but was not considered very bright. He was a fine hand to work, though, and from ploughing time in the spring until the corn husking was over in the fall, he was always busy. During the winter months he did odd jobs and went to school, but he had never got beyond the first-reader class. Because he had nothing to do he had always been more or less troublesome in school, and the very first day he came he threw paper wads and whispered and teased the younger children.

“Belle found that he knew the first reader ‘by heart.’ More to encourage Joe than for any other reason, she promoted him to the second reader. It was hard to tell whether pupil or teacher was the most astonished to find that Joe was actually learning to read. Belle helped him before and after school, and Joe became a model pupil and refused to do any work that would make him miss a day of school. He always came early in the morning and had the fire going and wood enough in for all day by the time Belle got there.

“So Belle was surprised to find Joe’s seat empty one snowy morning in December. His sister Nancy said he had gone to the railroad in a sled to get some freight for Mr. Grove. They lived on Mr. Grove’s place, and Joe could not well refuse to do this for him. Nancy did say, though, that Joe had wanted to wait until Saturday, but Mr. Grove was afraid the sledding snow would go off before that time. So Joe had started long before daylight, hoping to get back to school in time for the afternoon session.

“About half-past eleven there was a loud knock on the door. It was snowing and blowing, and we all turned around to look when Belle went to open the door. On the steps a big man in a fur cap was stamping his feet and shaking the snow from a fur-collared great-coat. Belle said afterward that she knew him instantly—it was the new county superintendent—but she couldn’t imagine why he had come. She had seen him at institute in Clayville, but none of us children had ever seen him before.

“Belle soon found from his talk that he thought he was in the Cherry Flat school. When she told him where he was and the peculiar circumstances of our school, he was very much surprised.

“‘Why, I can’t understand it at all,’ he said. ‘I was talking to the station agent this morning, asking how to get to Cherry Flat school, and a boy who was warming himself at the stove spoke up and offered to take me there. He was on a sled and of course I jumped at the chance. He let me out at the forks of the road, and here I am, three miles from the Cherry Flat school, you say.’

“‘I bet it was Joe,’ Betty Bard whispered to me.

“Now that the superintendent was there and couldn’t get away until the storm let up, he made a speech. Then he listened to our recitations and asked Belle a great many questions, such as how many pupils she had, where they lived, and whether she received any pay at all for teaching. She told him about her certificate and her failure to get a school, and he wrote it all down in a little notebook.

“The storm grew worse and worse. The wind whistled around the schoolhouse and rattled the windows, and the falling snow looked like a thick white blanket.

“Belle asked us to share our dinners with the superintendent, and we did. He sat on one of the desks and told us stories while he ate everything we gave him—bread and apple butter, hard-boiled eggs, ham sandwiches, pickles, doughnuts, mince and apple pies, and cup cakes. When he left we were all good friends and we filled his pockets with apples. He said he would eat them as he walked along to Cherry Flat school, but he didn’t have to walk. Truman took him in our sled, and we all stood in the door and waved until he was out of sight.

“No one could get Joe to say a word about the superintendent’s visit, but everybody thought he had brought him there on purpose, hoping in this way to help Belle. He was a great deal smarter than people gave him credit for, and Belle had helped him and he wanted to do something for her.

“But if sister Belle nourished any secret hopes that the unexpected visit would help her in any way, she gave them up as the weeks went by and she heard nothing from the superintendent.

“School went on just as usual, though. Christmas came, and Belle didn’t have money for the usual treat. But we had lots of sorghum molasses, and Mother let her have a taffy pulling in our kitchen and we had lots of fun.

“Everybody got along well in their books and we were going to have last day exercises, as we always did, with recitations and songs and games. Belle staid late at the schoolhouse the evening before and reached home just as Truman came in from the postoffice. He handed her a long, thin envelope and she tore it open and read the letter it contained. Before she got through she was dancing all around the kitchen, laughing and crying at the same time, and Mother took the letter from her hand and read it aloud.

“I can’t remember how that letter read, but it was from the board of education. They said they had decided to put our school back on the pay roll and that they understood that Belle had taught it in a very satisfactory manner since the opening of the term. She was to send her record of attendance and they would forward the five salary vouchers of thirty dollars each, which were due her. There was some more about its being unusual, but that they felt she deserved it. It was no wonder Belle was so happy, was it?”

ANDY’S MONUMENT

Bobby and Alice and Pink had been telling Grandma about the soldiers’ monument that was to be placed in the courthouse yard.

“It is to be made of granite,” said Bobby, “and the names of all the soldiers from this county who died or were killed in the war will be cut on one side of it.”

“Well, well,” said Grandma thoughtfully, “that makes me think of a monument I knew about long ago, but this monument wasn’t made of granite.”

“Marble, may be,”suggested Alice.

“No, not marble, either. You never heard of a monument like this. But, there, I might as well tell you about it,” and Grandma polished her spectacles, found her knitting, and began:

“This monument was for a soldier, too. Andy Carson was his name. He was a very young soldier, only fifteen years old, but large for his age, and he ran away from home and enlisted. Three times he ran away and twice his father brought him back, but the third time he let him go.

“But poor Andy never wore a uniform or saw a battle. He died in camp two weeks after he had enlisted and he was buried in our cemetery, with only Father to read a chapter out of the Bible and say a prayer, because the preacher was clear at the other end of the circuit.

“Right away Mrs. Carson began to plan for a monument for Andy. At first it was to be just an ordinary monument, but the more she thought about it the grander she wanted it to be. Nothing could be too good for Andy. He should have the biggest monument in the cemetery—a life-size figure. But she couldn’t decide whether to have the figure draped in a robe with a dove perched on the shoulder or to have it wearing a uniform and cap. Mrs. Carson finally settled on the uniform, though she couldn’t give up the idea of the dove, so there was to be a dove in one outstretched hand.

“But the Carsons had no money and they didn’t like to work. If anyone mentioned work to Mr. Carson, he would begin always to talk about the misery in his back. When brother Charlie had a job he didn’t want to do, he would bend over with his hand on his back, screw up his face as if he were in great pain, and say, ‘Oh, that misery in my back!’

“Mother said Mrs. Carson had not been lazy as a girl, but that she had grown discouraged from having so many to do for and nothing to do with. Sometimes she came to visit Mother, because Mother was always nice to everybody. She was very tall and thin, with a short waist, and she wore the longest skirts I ever saw and a black slat sunbonnet.

“There was a big family of children—a girl, Maggie, older than Andy, and Willie, a boy a year younger, and four or five smaller children. The older ones came to school part of the time, but none of them ever came to church—partly because they had no proper clothes, I suppose.

“They lived on a farm left them by Mrs. Carson’s father. The land was all run down and worn out. It was covered with briars and broom sage and a stubby growth of trees. Fences were down, and the buildings were unpainted and old.

“So, though the Carsons talked a great deal about Andy’s monument, no one ever thought they would get one. But Mother said it was the first thing Mrs. Carson had really wanted for years and years and people generally got the things they wanted most if they were willing to work hard for them. And it turned out that all the Carsons were willing to work hard for Andy’s monument. It was astonishing the way they worked.

“Mrs. Carson and the children started with the house and yard. They cleaned the rubbish off the yard and raked and swept it and planted flowers. They made the stove wood into a neat pile and swept up the chips and patched the fence and whitewashed it. By this time Mr. Carson had the fever, too. He started to clear off the land, all the family helping him. All summer long they worked, early and late, cutting out the briars and underbrush, burning broom sage, building fences, and by fall you wouldn’t have known it for the same place. They worked for a number of other people, too, and made a little money, besides taking seed corn and a pair of little pigs and other things they needed in payment.

“Well, it took a lot of money for a monument like Andy’s was to be, but the Carsons worked and saved for it. It seemed as if they had set a new standard for themselves and were trying hard to live up to Andy’s monument.

“They painted the house and repaired and whitewashed the outbuildings and put a paling fence around the front yard. They got lace curtains and a store carpet for their best room, and when Father got us a piano, Mrs. Carson bought our organ for a trifle. They got new clothes and dishes and tablecloths, and every Sunday they all came to meeting and asked folks home with them to dinner just as anybody else did.

“Dave Orbison was courting Maggie, and Willie was ready to go to the academy. He wanted an education and came to our house every week to get Truman to help him with his studies or to borrow books. If it hadn’t been for the monument, people would have forgotten that the Carsons had ever been considered lazy or shiftless.

“But Mrs. Carson was always talking about the monument. She had never had Andy’s funeral sermon preached, and she planned to have it preached the Sunday after the monument was set up.

“And at the end of three years they had enough money, but for some reason they didn’t get the monument. Everybody wondered about it. Weeks went by, and still no news of the monument. Willie often came to our house, but he never mentioned it. Then one day Mrs. Carson came. She had a horse now, and she looked longer and thinner than ever in her black calico riding skirt.

“Mother was fitting a dress on me—a red wool delaine for Sundays—but Mrs. Carson dropped into a chair without even glancing at it.

“‘Mrs. Purviance,’ she began immediately, ‘I want your honest opinion about something. For over three years now we’ve been saving for Andy’s monument, and until a few weeks ago I never had a thought but that that was the right thing to do with the money. But one night I got to thinking that here was Willie wanting an education, and Maggie getting ready to be married and no money to help her set up housekeeping, and Lissy longing for music lessons, and I couldn’t sleep for thinking. And, Mrs. Purviance, I haven’t had a minute’s peace since. That’s why I haven’t ordered the monument. I can’t make up my mind to it. It’ll be a long time before we can help Willie much if we spend the monument money. It looks as if he ought to have his chance. And of course the money won’t help Andy any, but I had set my heart on a fine monument for him. I don’t know what to do,” and she started to cry.

“‘Mrs. Carson,’ Mother said gently, and there were tears in her eyes, too, ‘if you want to know what I really think, I’ll tell you. I think that as far as honoring Andy is concerned you and your family have already given him a much better monument than any you can ever set up in the cemetery.’

“Mother ran a pin straight into me and I jumped, and Mother said she was done with me for a while. I went out, and that was the last I heard of the monument until the Sunday Andy’s funeral sermon was to be preached.

“There had been so much talk about the monument and the long put-off funeral sermon that there was an unusually large crowd at the church that day.

“And some of them were disappointed, for when the service was over and we filed out, the Carsons first, past the flower-decked graves to the corner where Andy was buried, there was Andy’s grave adorned with only a plain little head stone. But grouped around it stood his family, and the way that family had improved in the three years since Andy’s death—well, as my mother said, that was a pretty fine monument for Andy, don’t you think so?

“And now don’t forget your ‘apple a day,’ and good night to everybody.”

MEMORY VERSES

Grandma had been reading aloud from Pink’s Sunday-school paper and when she finished she said:

“We didn’t have anything like this when I was a little girl. We didn’t even have any Sunday school. The nearest thing to Sunday school was when we recited our memory verses on meeting day. Every week we learned so many verses from the Bible, and on meeting day the preacher heard us recite them.

“I remember one year—it was Reverend Bard’s second year—that in order to get the children to take more interest in learning the verses, the preacher offered a Testament to the one who could say the most verses by a certain time. We were all eager to get the Testament, and we did study harder than usual.

“The contest was to take place on Sunday afternoon. There was to be preaching in the morning, dinner on the grounds, and in the afternoon a prayer meeting and the memory-verse contest. There would be a large crowd, and anyone who wanted to could try for the Testament. Even the smallest children would say what verses they knew.

“Charlie was always hunting for the shortest verses, and he hadn’t learned very many of any kind till toward the last. Then he learned five or six a day and carried a Bible around in his pocket wherever he went and studied every spare minute.

“I had been getting my verses regularly every week and I had a good memory. So I wasn’t much afraid of anyone beating me except Charlie or Annie Brierly or maybe Betty Bard, the preacher’s granddaughter. Betty knew a lot of verses, but at the last minute she was likely to get to thinking of something else and forget them.

“On Saturday Betty and Annie came to see me, and Betty said that Lissy Carson was going to try for the Testament, too. The Carsons hadn’t been coming to meeting very long, but Betty, when she had been there to call with her grandfather a few days before, said Lissy knew fifty-one verses.

“‘And I think she ought to have the Testament,’ announced Betty. ‘Grandfather said it would encourage the whole family. If you two girls and Charlie and I let her say more verses than we do, she would get it.’

“‘But if we knew more verses and just let her get the Testament on purpose,’ put in Annie, ‘it wouldn’t be right, would it?’