THE SUMMER LONG
THE SUMMER LONG
CHAPTER VIIITHE SUMMER LONG
Having satisfied his appetite to the point of discomfort, Jerry pushed back his plate with a sigh, shaking his head when Cassy asked if he would have more strawberries.
“Then we’ll save them and the rest of the things for mother,” she said with a satisfied air. “Unless,” she looked at Rock with sudden misgiving, “unless you meant to carry them home.”
Rock laughed.
“Not I, if you please. I’ve no notion of doing any such thing. I am too lazy to move and the thought of having to burden myself with a basket is too much for me. I will help you to wipe the dishes, though, and Jerry can put them away.”
“Do you really mean,” said Jerry, slowly, having been in a brown study, “that the railroad people will pay mother some money?”
“I think so,” Rock told him, “but one can’t say positively. Father says it is a very goodcase for damages, but it has been so long now that perhaps they will not want to pay the whole amount that is claimed, but he is pretty sure they will compromise, and he knows what he’s talking about.”
Cassy did not exactly understand all this, but she knew it meant good fortune for her mother; that hope of which she had spoken on Easter Day, and she wondered if it could mean as much as that they could have a cottage with morning-glories over the porch, and if they could move away and be rid of Billy Miles forever.
As if in answer to her thought Rock asked her: “Have you seen anything of our friend Billy Miles lately?”
“Our friend,” Cassy repeated in scorn. “I’d like to see myself calling him my friend.”
“Well, you’ll get rid of him soon, I hope,” Rock told her.
“Do you really think so?” Cassy exclaimed. “I hope we shall, and, oh, I’d like to get rid of a good many things.”
“What, for instance?”
“Oh, most of the schoolgirls, and this horrid noisy street and Mrs. Boyle’s parrot. I wish Icould go to another school and move into another street, and never see the parrot again.”
“Why, don’t you like the parrot? I think she is very funny.”
Cassy shook her head.
“She is a bad bird, and says things in such a wicked way like old Mrs. Finnegan, and they laugh just alike. Polly bites, too, and is so cross. Sometimes I sit on the fence and look at her and she looks at me and says: ‘You’re bad! You’re bad!’ and I say, ‘I am not as bad as you. You are bad!’ And then she laughs as if she liked to be bad. I believe she has a black heart,” Cassy concluded, soberly.
Rock laughed.
“The poor Polly! I don’t believe she is as wicked as you make out, but I’ve no doubt but by this time next year you will be far away from here.”
“Oh, let’s pretend we will,” cried Cassy, stopping in her work of clearing off the dishes. “You say what you think we’ll be doing, and I’ll say, and Jerry can.”
“That reminds me of a play we have sometimes, where one begins a story and one afteranother goes on with it till it is very funny by the time it is finished. Here goes: Next year at this time you will be living in a pretty little country town.”
“Where?” asked Cassy, fishing with a fork for the soap in her pan of hot water.
“Why, of course in the same town where Eleanor lives.”
“How lovely! Go on.”
“And you’ll live in a nice little white cottage——”
“With morning-glories over the porch.”
“Yes, and roses. I think I know just where it is.”
“Oh, I wish I did!” Cassy dropped her mop and clasped her soapy hands.
“And you’ll have a dog and a cat.”
“And chickens,” Jerry broke in.
“And a garden,” Cassy added, eagerly.
“And pigeons, maybe,” from Jerry.
“And we’ll have picnics whenever we want them,” Rock went on.
“We?”
“Yes; you’re not going to leave me out. I go up there every summer, if you please.”
“Oh, do you?”
“That’s fine,” said Jerry. “Oh, pshaw! I almost thought it was going to be really. Cass, where shall I put the milk?”
“On the window ledge, outside; it is cooler there than anywhere else.”
“Gee whiz!” exclaimed Rock, looking at his watch. “It’s after three and I promised George Reed that I’d be there by half-past. I must travel. Good-bye, Cassy. Good-bye, Jerry; I’ve had a bang up time.” He lost no time in getting away, gazed after admiringly by both the children, Jerry declaring that he was “hot stuff,” and Cassy saying: “I think he’s like a real Prince of Wales.”
It was late when their mother returned, tired out, and after Cassy had bustled around and had set before her the remains of the feast, she told them that so far all seemed very promising, but that such matters could not be settled at once. Yet Cassy saw that there was a brighter smile on her mother’s face and that she did not turn at once to that hateful pile of sewing.
Yet true it was that before midsummer they had all seen the last of the noisy street, and hadturned their backs upon Billy Miles, Mrs. Boyle and the wicked parrot, for about the first of July, just as Cassy and Jerry were mourning the fact that the Dallas family would soon be going away, and their house would be closed, there came a call from Mrs. Dallas herself which resulted in a most delightful arrangement.
“We are going to leave the city for the summer,” she said to Mrs. Law, “and although heretofore we have always shut up the house, yet this year Mr. Dallas will have to be here more or less, and it would be so much more comfortable for him if he could come to his own home when he is obliged to be in the city; so I have been thinking how very nice it would be if you would consent to take charge of the house during the summer months. I had thought of renting it, but we should feel so much better satisfied to have some one we know in it, and if you would kindly see that Mr. Dallas is made comfortable when he comes to town, I should feel that we would be quits in the matter of rent. John McClure has consented to sleep in the coachman’s quarters at the stable; we take our horses with us, you know, and I think John would be mightilypleased if you would board him; it might help out with your table expenses if you could do that. The back rooms are really the most agreeable in summer, for they look out on the garden, and the porch at that side is very cool. We always find a breeze there, if there is any stirring. Do you think you could arrange to come?”
Mrs. Law glanced at Cassy, who was looking thin and pale.
“Oh, mother!” cried the child in an imploring tone.
“You would like it, wouldn’t you, Cassy?” said Mrs. Dallas, smiling at her.
“Better than anything,” said Cassy.
“I know it is a responsibility,” Mrs. Dallas went on, “and that one always feels more or less uneasy if he or she is given charge of another’s belongings, but you need use only the rooms at the back of the house, and I am sure everything will be in much better condition than if the house were left closed. Mr. Dallas will only sleep there when he is in town, so you will not have to think of meals for him, and, oh yes, whenever you think there is need of extra cleaning you are at libertyto call upon Martha Collins; I think you may need her once in a while. She understands that, for she is paid half her wages while we are away, and it is an understood thing that she holds herself in readiness to do anything we exact of her. John will see to it that the pavements are kept clean; there is a boy who comes to do that. John says he wouldn’t agree to having any other children in and out of his garden, so you and Jerry may consider yourselves complimented,” she said, turning to Cassy.
The upshot of the whole matter was that Mrs. Law agreed to accept Mrs. Dallas’s offer, and in a few days the Law family found a summer home at the old Dallas place, with John as their boarder. Cassy could scarcely believe her ears that first morning when she was awakened by the robins whistling in the cherry-trees, early, so early, before any one was up. She had a little room next her mother’s; both rooms opened on a porch and overlooked the garden. Cassy slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the window. She could see the robins getting their share of the cherries before any one else should gather them, and then her eyes fell upon a wonderful sight just under herwindow. Those were morning-glories surely, blue and pink and purple and pearly white, opening now as the light touched them.
“Oh!” whispered the child in ecstasy. “You darlings!” She reached out her hand and drew a bit of the vine towards her, gazing into the frail cups and touching with gentle finger the curling tendrils.
She was so happy that her eyes filled with tears, and she stood there whispering to herself till she heard her mother stir, and then she scampered back to bed again, but not to sleep; the robins were too lively, and when in the course of an hour she heard the click of a grass-mower in the garden, she jumped up and dressed herself, then groped her way down-stairs and let herself out the door into the morning sunshine.
“Hello!” cried John, looking up from his grass-cutting. “You are an early bird.”
“I’m not as early as the robins.”
“No, you’d have to get up betimes to get ahead of them, little robbers that they are.”
“Aren’t there enough cherries for them to have some?” Cassy asked anxiously.
John smiled.
“That depends upon how many you want for yourself. Do you like cherries?”
Cassy thought for a minute.
“I don’t believe I ever tasted any. Mother didn’t think they were good for us, and she never let us eat them.”
“Well, I declare,” said John. “But I don’t blame her. I doubt if any you ever saw were fit to eat. There is a muckle of difference between cherries picked right off the tree and those you see on the fruit stand at your corner. As soon as I get through this lawn I’ll get you some. By to-morrow they ought to be picked, anyhow.”
Cassy looked up at the red and white waxy fruit. She thought it looked very pretty among the green leaves.
“What a good time the robins were having, to be sure.” She thought it might be great fun to be a robin and go flying, flying among the trees. They did seem to be enjoying themselves so much that the little girl felt sorry that the cherries must be picked, and they be left without any, but she remembered that the cherries would not last very long anyhow, and that the robins would have their share first. Up and down thelawn John went, while Cassy sat on the step and watched him and the robins, and gazed at the garden before her.
The best of the blossoming was over, but there were a number of flowers still to be seen; marigolds, and larkspurs, and snap-dragons, phlox and mignonette and monthly roses, not to mention the geraniums. Every time John came to the end of his line he would stop to have a pleasant word, and although he declared that he wasn’t getting along very fast, it was evident that he enjoyed Cassy’s company.
After a while the grass was cut and lay in sweet smelling heaps upon the lawn.
“That will make quite a little pile of hay,” said John, “and there’s nothing smells sweeter. Come along now and we’ll get those cherries.”
Bringing a ladder he placed it against the tree and soon had climbed within reach of the fruit-laden branches. He tossed a cluster down to Cassy.
“Try ’em,” he said.
Cassy immediately popped one into her mouth.
“Like that? Pretty good, isn’t it?”
“It’s delicious,” Cassy returned.
“Think you’d like to come up here and pick some for yourself? Afraid to try the ladder? It’s pretty steady.”
“I’d love to do that.”
“Come along, then.” John settled himself into a crotch of the tree and watched her ascend. She came lightly and with perfect confidence. “That’s right,” he said. “You weren’t a bit scared, were you?”
“No, indeed.”
He put out his arm and drew her to a safe seat near him. “There now, help yourself,” he told her. “You can run a race with the robins if you like.”
Cassy laughed, and then for the first time in all her life she gathered fruit from its own tree. After awhile she saw that her mother had come down and that Jerry was looking for her. She gave a merry glance at John.
“Don’t tell him where we are; let him find us.”
“Cassy, Cassy,” called Jerry.
“Here I am,” came the answer.
Jerry looked mystified. He hunted the garden over, and finally spied the ladder leaning against the tree.
“Oho!” he cried peering up into the green; and just then a bunch of ripe cherries came pelting against his upturned face and a merry laugh sounded from above.
“Want to come up?” said John. Didn’t he? Could any one imagine that he didn’t? However, John warned him: “Better wait till we come down. There’ll be most too many in this tree, I’m afraid.”
Bearing his hat full of cherries he came down the ladder and Cassy followed. Then Jerry was given permission to go up. This was a treat he had not expected, to be allowed the freedom of a cherry tree full of ripe cherries. What bliss!
The boy gave a sigh of great content as he settled himself astride a huge bough.
“Don’t eat too many,” John warned, “and come down when I call you.” Jerry promised; he valued John’s good opinion, and moreover had respect for his authority, and he was not going to do anything to alter the present pleasant state of things.
Cassy had climbed down safely and stood below, her eyes fixed on Jerry.
“Isn’t it splendid?” she called up to him.
“I should say so,” came the answer, rather indistinctly by reason of a mouthful of cherries.
“Here, little one,” said John, “suppose you take these in to your mother,” and he poured the hatful of shining fruit into Cassy’s outstretched apron. She ran lightly across the freshly cut grass to the kitchen where her mother was getting breakfast.
“Just see! Just see!” cried the child, “I’ve been up the tree, and the robins were there too, and John went up and Jerry is there now. I picked cherries, real cherries, from the tree myself.” The delight in her face made her mother stop to kiss her.
“Breakfast is ready,” she told her. “Call Jerry and Mr. McClure.” And Jerry regretfully was obliged to come down. “You shall help me to pick them to-morrow,” John told him, and this prospect was enough to satisfy him.