CHAPTERION THE WAY TO BIG CREEK
Oh, how hot it was! Down in the narrow streets, where straight rows of little brick houses were crowded together there was not the faintest breeze, and even on the wharf where Benny Jordan sat swinging his bare feet over the water, it was scarcely cooler. Usually there were little waves splashing up against the green logs of the pier, but to-day only the faintest little ripples swished lazily against the piles and the boats lying farther out did not flap a sail.
“It’s no good staying here,” said Benny to himself, as he got up and stretched his arms over his head. “It’s just about as hot as it is at home. I wonder what thereis for supper. My, but I’d like some ice cream! I haven’t had any for so long, and I reckon I never will have any again.” And at this very sobering thought Benny began to patter along over the sidewalk, almost forgetting that this was the hottest day of the season, entirely too hot for May, and that the big excursion steamer, which he had been waiting to see, would soon be in sight.
“’Tain’t any use to wait,” he said to himself, as if apologizing. “I’d only see the crowd, and what’s a crowd, anyhow?”
So he marched on up the street, passing the fruit stands and ill-smelling warehouses, until he turned into one of the small streets leading out of the thoroughfare, and presently he arrived at a small two-story brick house, one of a long row. So much alike were these buildings that it is a wonder Benny knew how to tellhis own home without counting the doorways.
“Where’s mother?” was his question as he reached the door.
His sister Kitty, sitting on the doorstep, looked up, “She’s upstairs, of course, sewing as hard as she can, and it’s so hot.”
Benny went pounding up the stairs to the room where his mother sat sewing. “Say, mother, it’s too hot to sew,” he exclaimed.
“But it isn’t too hot to eat, is it?” she said, looking up with a smile. “You know if I didn’t sew we wouldn’t have anything to eat.”
“That’s so,” replied Benny, slowly.
“Where have you been?” asked his mother, stopping to push back the damp hair from her face.
“I’ve been down on the wharf; it’sgenerally cool there, but it’s hot everywhere to-day. I like to go there, though; I like to see the people come up from the country with big bundles of flowers, and I like to watch the men unload the boats. They brought such a lot of strawberries to-day.”
“This weather ripens them fast. It is very early to have such heat.”
“I wish we lived in the country,” said Benny. “Isn’t it cheaper to live there?”
“Ye-es, if you have some one to work your garden and take care of your stock. But how could I make a living for you and Kitty?”
“We could help,” Benny replied.
“Not much, I’m afraid. A little boy ten years old and a little girl seven would scarcely be able to do much toward making a living.”
“But shouldn’t you like to live there?” persisted Benny.
“I should, indeed,” returned his mother, with a sigh. “I was brought up on a farm, you know, and so was your father.”
Benny had heard of that farm many, many times. He knew all about the spring and the orchard, the barn and the garden. “Grandfather sold it, didn’t he?” was his remark, made regretfully.
“Yes, long ago. Come, we must have some supper. You and sister can set the table.”
“What is there for supper?”
“Nothing but bread and molasses, I’m afraid.”
“I wish we could have some ice cream and strawberries.”
“Now you are making an extravagant wish. We can’t have that, but, perhaps, we might have some bread and milk.You can go and get a quart of milk and we’ll have a treat.”
Benny’s face brightened. Bread and cold milk on a hot day was a much more appetizing prospect than bread and molasses, and the little boy promptly ran down to tell his sister.
“Hurry up, Kit, and set the table; we’re going to have bread and milk. Where’s a tin bucket?”
Pale little Kitty put down her paper dolls with alacrity, and before long the little family were seated at the table. Slowly and reluctantly the children disposed of the last drop of milk in their bowls.
“If we lived in the country, we could have this every night,” Benny said.
“What has set you harping so on the country?” asked Mrs. Jordan.
“Why, I don’t know. I reckon it’shearing the men talk down at the wharf. One of ’em said this morning: ‘There’s no money for farmers nowadays. A man can’t make anything in the country.’ ‘He can always make a living,’ said the other, ‘and a pretty good one, too. How’d you like your wife and babies to be in the city this weather? Why, sir, there’s lots of folks would give anything to see their children tumble ’round on the grass under such trees as you’ve got and have all the good milk they wanted to drink. I think we country people are pretty well off, myself. We don’t make a fortune, but we’ve got a good living right handy.’”
Benny unconsciously imitated the man, and his mother laughed.
“You surely took in that conversation, Benny. I’d like well enough to live under the green trees again. It’s what your father always planned to do someday when he had made enough to buy a little place.”
Benny looked sober. He always felt as if he wanted to carry out his father’s plans, and this looked like a very hard one.
“You make it worth while, and we’ll go,” said his mother, smiling. “Now I must go back to my buttonholes and you children can clear away the dishes.”
“Don’t you wish you could find a way to get to the country?” said big-eyed little Kitty, as she carefully put away the last bowl.
Benny turned his round, good-natured, freckled little face toward her. “I’m a goin’ to,” he said, determinedly. “Mother said she go if I’d make it worth while, and I’m a goin’ to.”
“Oh, Benny, are you?” said Kitty. She had the utmost confidence in this elderbrother, who, although only three years older, seemed so much larger and stronger than herself, and was a person always to be depended upon to undertake any difficult task. “How are you going to?” she continued.
“I’m a goin’ to,” reiterated Benny, with the same emphasis. And the fact of his saying this and nothing more gave greater weight to his words. So all that evening Kitty dreamed beautiful dreams of a little home near green meadows and under leafy trees.
Benny’s determination had not left him the next day. It was a holiday and Benny pattered off down to the wharf as early as possible. Somehow then it seemed as if that land of delight known as the country were more accessible by reason of the arrival of the crafts which plied between the lower counties and the city. It appearedso easy to step aboard a little steamer and be borne along over the bay to the green shores melting away in the distance. Those shores from which were brought, on the little sailing vessels, mountains of green peas, crates of luscious strawberries, baskets of downy peaches. It represented to Benny a veritable Canaan, that country from which the little vessels came, and many a time he had sat on the pier looking off into the distance and dreaming of the fullness and plenty which he imagined existed there.
He was standing at the gangway of a small steamer which lay moored to her dock, when his attention was arrested by two men who halted near him.
“Hello, Jim!” said one. “What’s bringing you to town? Thought this was a busy time with you.”
“So it is, or ought to be, but my pickersdisappointed me. Here my strawberries and peas are ready and waiting and not a soul to pick ’em. It certainly is aggravating.”
“It certainly is,” returned his friend. “What you going to do about it?”
“I’ve come up to see if I can get a new gang. I shall have to take what I can get. People make a very poor mouth, but I notice when anyone wants farm hands of any kind it isn’t always so easy to get hold of ’em. Good pay and good food, with good, fresh air thrown in, and yet they shy off. Well, I can’t tarry; good-by.”
“Well, good luck to you,” returned his friend. And then, turning around he saw by his side an eager-faced little lad.
“Well, sonny?” said the man.
“If you please, sir, what did that man want?”
“Pickers, to pick his strawberries and peas for him. Do you know anyone who wants a job in that line?”
“Could I do it?” and Benny’s blue eyes were very wistful.
“You? Why I don’t know. How old are you?”
“Ten.”
“I’m afraid you’d soon give out. It’s no fun to stay among the vines all day in the hot sun, and I’ll venture to say you wouldn’t pick as many for your box as you would for your mouth. How about that?”
Benny shook his head decidedly, “No, sir.”
“You wouldn’t? Well, I reckon Mr. Bentley will be back here for the afternoon boat. You might ask him then,” and the man walked away.
Benny lost no time in speeding home. He burst in upon his mother with thebreathless question, “Mother, may I go down on the “Emma Jones” and be a picker?”
Mrs. Jordan turned from her machine with a look of amazement. “Why, Benny, what do you mean?”
“Why, there’s a man, a Mr. Bentley, who is hunting up people to pick strawberries and peas for him, and maybe I could go. Maybe it would be finding the way, you know, for father’s plan.”
His mother smiled sadly.
“Dear little lad, I’m afraid Mr. Bentley will not want little boys like you, and besides how can I let my boy go away from me without my knowing anything about where he is going or the people he is to be thrown with.”
“I would be good; indeed I would, mother. I’d work awfully hard, and I wouldn’t go with bad boys.”
“Well, my darling, I’m afraid it would not be best for me to say yes.”
“But if Mr. Bentley should want me,” pleaded Benny, “I would be right in the country, mother, and I wouldn’t get into mischief.”
His mother smiled at this absolute faith in the safety of the place. Then she was very thoughtful. “If I could see Mr. Bentley himself, and find out more about it,” she said finally.
“Can’t I go and try it for a week? Only a week?” begged Benny.
“You may do this—you may ask Mr. Bentley if he will take you, and if he consents, you must tell him that your mother will see Mr. Higgins, who used to live in that neighborhood, and that she will probably send you down to-morrow. I know where the “Emma Jones” lands, and Mr. Higgins willknow all about it. I will see him this evening.”
Benny went off highly pleased with this concession.
Long before two o’clock he was waiting eagerly by the gangway of the “Emma Jones” for Mr. Bentley to appear.
Passengers began to straggle along; here a man with a huge basket, there a woman, followed by two or three hot, tired children, next two or three negroes, ragged and happy, shuffled lazily on board. Presently the captain came up. “Who are you waiting for, sonny?”
“Mr. Bentley.”
“Jim Bentley? I reckon he’s on the upper deck. I saw Welch up there, and they generally hunt up one another. You go up there and look for him. You might get in the way here.” Benny found his way on deck and began lookingalong the row of passengers for Mr. Bentley, but not seeing him, he sat down and began to watch the big excursion steamer which lay in the next dock. She was dressed with flags, and the music of the band on her deck made her seem a very gay sort of an affair to Benny.
He was so busy watching the crowds of people gathering aboard this big steamer, that he did not notice the warning sound of a bell, nor the slow movement of paddles, till presently he perceived the dock gliding from sight and found that the “Emma Jones” was actually on her way to Big Creek.