CHAPTER XVII
MRS. MARTIN’S GLASSES
For a moment or two, following Freddie’s excited cries, those in the barn, including the others in the Bobbsey family, did not know whether the little fellow really saw what he said he did or not.
“What do you mean, Freddie—are there really runaway cows?” asked Nan.
“Sure, they are!” was the answer. “Come and look! They’re running right this way, too!”
“And I can hear cows, too!” shrieked Flossie.
“I’ll see what’s going on!” exclaimed Zeek Trimmer from his place at the far end of the peach bins, where he was putting the fruit into baskets ready for the market.
He ran to the door, followed by Mr. Watson and Mr. Bobbsey. Freddie had turnedto find what he thought would be a safe place with Flossie. Nan decided she must help her mother quiet the small twins, but Bert ran on with his father and the other men.
Flossie was right when she said she could hear the cows, for loud bellows and moos filled the air, mingling with the shouts of men.
Bert looked out in time to see a large herd of cattle rushing up the lane that led from the main road to the biggest of the Cloverbank barns. The animals seemed to have been frightened by something, and were now running away, or “stampeding,” as a Western cowboy would have called it.
“Where’d they come from?” asked Mr. Bobbsey. “Are they your cattle, Mr. Watson?”
“No, they don’t belong to me. I haven’t as many as that. They must be a herd some drover was driving to market, and they got wild for some reason or other.”
“Well, if we don’t shut these doors they’ll be in the barn in another minute!” cried Zeek. “And if they knock over the peach baskets and bins and trample the fruit, there’ll be a big loss. Help me close the doors!” he shouted.
“That’s a good idea!” exclaimed Mr. Bobbsey, and while some of the peach sorters ran out to help the drover and his men quiet the runaway cattle, others began closing the big doors of the barn.
By this time the excited cattle were all about the building, running this way and that, kicking up their heels, shaking their horned heads, and acting wildly.
“They’ll break down my fences and let out my cattle if we don’t drive them away!” said Mr. Watson, when he, with Mr. Bobbsey and the other men, had gone outside, after closing the doors to save the peaches.
“Help me get ’em back into the road and they’ll be all right!” shouted a man with a long whip. He evidently was in charge of the herd, and had two other men to help. “Drive ’em back into the road!” he cried.
“What happened?” Mr. Watson wanted to know.
“Dogs and bees!” was the answer. “A stray dog started one of the heifers off on a run. She got in among some bee hives down the road and kicked over some of the hives. The bees swarmed out and stung a lot of thecows, and they got wild and started to run. Then the whole bunch started off!”
“We’ll help you get them back into shape again,” said Mr. Bobbsey.
“Can’t I come?” asked Bert, who was eager to do his part.
“Yes, come along!” invited Mr. Watson.
“This is fun!” exulted Bert, as he caught up a stick to wave at the cows and get them back on the main highway.
It may have been fun for Bert Bobbsey, but it was worrisome work for the drover and his men. But finally the bunch of runaway cattle were rounded up, and they were slowly driven out of the lane, away from the peach barn, and toward the main road. Some of Mr. Watson’s cattle, in a near-by pasture, seeing the other bunch of animals, seemed to want to join them. They ran excitedly up and down the field, as close to the fence as they could get.
“If they break out you’ll have hard work separating your cows from the others,” said Mr. Bobbsey to the farmer.
“I guess they won’t break out,” was the reply. “My fences are good and strong.”
It was well they were, for some of the cows tried to knock the rails down with their heads and horns. But the barriers held, and when the runaway cattle were driven back to the highway, the Cloverbank cows quieted down.
Bert did good work, running here and there after stray animals and preventing them from turning back up the lane again. The cows did not seem to know what to do nor where to go.
“Bees and a barking dog are a bad combination in a herd of cattle,” remarked Mr. Watson, when the drover was thanking him for having helped to get the animals started on their way again. “It’s a good thing your animals didn’t overrun my farm.”
“Yes, I’m glad they didn’t do any damage,” said the other. “Though I would have been willing to pay for it if they had.”
“I mean I’m glad they didn’t get among my bee hives,” went on Mr. Watson. “A second stinging would have made them wilder than ever.”
“I guess it would!” agreed the drover. “But I don’t see any hives around here,” he added.
This was the first Bert knew honey was produced on the farm.
“Yes, I have quite a few swarms of bees,” replied Mr. Watson. “They’re over in that valley,” and he pointed to a distant one the children had not yet visited. “There’s lots of clover around here, and clover blossoms make the best honey,” he said. “Though some folks like the strong black honey made from buckwheat blossoms, and some say basswood honey is good. But clover suits me.”
“Was anybody hurt?” called Mrs. Watson to her husband. She stood on the side porch of the house, holding Baby Jenny, and with her was Mrs. Martin.
“Nobody hurt,” her husband answered. “Did any of the cattle get up around the house?” he asked, for he had been so busy driving away those near the barn that he had noticed little else.
“There were a few up here,” Mrs. Martin said. “They acted just like they wanted to come into the house.”
“Maybe they wanted to give some milk to the baby,” suggested Freddie.
“Well, they didn’t get a chance!” cried the old lady. “I caught up the broom and drove’em away. Then they headed for the garden, and I had to go after ’em again!”
“You must have had quite a time up here,” said Mr. Bobbsey.
“We did,” Mrs. Watson said. “For a little while I thought surely some of the cows would come into the house. What happened?”
She was told about the bees and the dog.
What might have been a serious matter passed away safely, though the runaway cattle were the cause of something happening a little later to Mrs. Martin.
The stampede had interrupted the peach sorting, but no damage had been done, and Mr. Watson said Freddie had been a “brave little scout,” to warn so quickly about the danger of the onrushing cattle.
“If they’d once got into the barn here, among my fruit, they would have done a lot of damage,” the farmer said. “You are quite a cowboy, Freddie!”
“No, I’m going to be a fireman when I grow up,” was the answer. “Once I was going to be a cowboy, but my sister Flossie doesn’t like cows, so I’m going to be a fireman, and she can come and see me put out fires.”
“I didn’t know you kept bees, Mr. Watson,” said Nan, when quiet was once more restored in the barn.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “I bought some from a man who didn’t make much of a success producing honey for the market. I left the bees over where he had them—that’s the reason you’ve never seen the hives around here.”
“Will there be some honey soon?” asked Freddie.
“I shouldn’t wonder but what there would,” was the answer. “Anyhow, there will be plenty in the fall, and I’ll see that you get some to eat on your pancakes this winter. I’ll send you some.”
“I like pancakes!” murmured Freddie.
Knowing that too much work would not please the children, Mr. Bobbsey suggested that they had been in the barn long enough, sorting peaches, and told them to run out and play.
This Flossie and Freddie did, going to their favorite place down by the shallow part of the brook, where they sailed tiny boats. Bert and Nan, after having really helped quite a bit in sorting the fruit, wandered off to the woods, Nan taking a story book.
Bert decided he would go fishing.
“Want to come, Nan?” he invited, for he liked to have his sister with him.
“Thank you, I guess I don’t,” she answered. “I’ll take my book back to the house and read in the hammock.”
Bert went back to the house with her to get his pole and line. When they arrived they saw Mrs. Martin excitedly walking about the porch, looking on window sills, under chairs, and in many places.
“What’s the matter?” asked Nan.
“Is the baby lost?” Bert wanted to know.
“Not the baby, but my glasses!” answered the old lady. “Oh, dear! I had them just before the runaway cattle appeared, and I must have taken them off and laid them some place. Now I can’t find them! And I’ve gotten so used to them I don’t know what to do without them! Oh, where are my glasses?” and she seemed much distressed over the loss.