CHAPTER VI
A LOAD OF GRAPES
When the boys reached the house they found Mrs. Kimball just puttingsupper on the table. There was a delicious smell, which Roger at firstdid not recognize.
"Hurrah!" cried Adrian. "That's what I like!"
"What?"
"Fried chicken and corn bread. Can't anybody beat mother at that."
"Nor at anything else in the cooking line, I guess," agreed Roger.
The two boys made short work of washing up and combing their hair, andwhen they hurried down to the kitchen they had hungry looks that didMrs. Kimball good to see.
"I can't abide a poor eater," she said, as she heaped Roger's plate withthe crisp brown chicken, fried in sweet butter, and handed him a plateof smoking hot golden-yellow corn bread. "I do like t' see a body pitchin 'n' eat th' victuals set afore 'em," she went on. "After a body goest' work 'n' gits up a good meal, it's mighty disparagin' t' see th'things scorned down on. I'm glad t' see ye eat, Roger. Yer appetite'simproved wonderful already. Yer uncle 'n' cousin usually don't needmuch urgin' in th' eatin' line," she added significantly, as sheglanced at her husband's and son's well-heaped plates.
"I guess not," mumbled Mr. Kimball, picking up a nicely browned wing,and munching it with every indication of enjoyment. "I guess not, Mrs.Kimball."
Clara and her mother now sat down, and the meal progressed merrily.Roger almost forgot the homesickness that had twinged him once or twiceduring the day. The supper was about over when some one knocked at thekitchen door, opening it at the same time and calling out:
"I brought your mail, neighbor Kimball."
"Thanks, Enberry," said the farmer, as he got up to take several letterswhich Mr. Took had brought from the post-office. "Won't ye set down 'n'hev a bite, Enberry?"
"No, thanks; got t' do my chores yit. How's th' drowned boy?"
"Oh, I'm all right," called out Roger, "and I'm much obliged for gettingme home so quick."
"Allers willin' t' do a neighborly turn," said Mr. Took, as he went out.
"Hello!" exclaimed Roger's uncle, looking at the addresses on theenvelopes by the light of the kerosene lamp, "Hello! Here's a letter foryou, Mr. Roger Anderson."
"It's from mother," cried the boy, as he caught sight of the belovedwriting, and for a few minutes he paid no attention to what went onaround him, as he read the news from the dear ones at home. It told himall were well, and how they missed him greatly.
"Take good care of yourself," Mrs. Anderson wrote, "and, though I shallmiss you very much, though we all miss you, we hope your visit toCardiff will do you good."
There was a little mist in the boy's eyes as he saw, in memory, thepleasant little circle about the table at home; his father reading, hismother sewing, and the baby building a wonderful house of blocks.
"Wa'al, what's th' news?" asked Mr. Kimball, in his deep hearty voice,and Roger told him what his mother had written.
It was not long before supper was over, and, while Mrs. Kimball andClara were clearing away the dishes, Roger, with his uncle and cousin,went out to the barn, where, by the light of a lantern, the two wagonswere loaded up, ready for an early start on the next day's trip. Mr.Kimball was to take his own horses and wagon to Syracuse with a load ofproduce, while Roger and Adrian would have Truem Wright's rig.
The last basket of grapes, the last crate of honey, and the celery,potatoes, and cabbage had been piled securely on the vehicles. Mr.Kimball pulled out his big silver watch.
"Hello!" he cried. "Nine o'clock. Time to go t' bed, fer we'll hev t' beup early in th' mornin'. Skedaddle, all on ye!"
The boys hurried to the house, laughing and shouting in anticipation ofthe pleasant trip next day.
That night Roger dreamed he was swimming in a big green pond, while aswarm of bees carrying bunches of grapes flew buzzing after him. Hethought a whole hive of the insects were about to settle down on him,when he was caught by a big fish that shook him in its mouth as a dogmight a rat. Then he awoke suddenly to find that the shaking was beingdone by his cousin Adrian, who stood bending over him, pulling him bythe arm. A lamp burned in the room.
"What's the matter? Is the house afire?" asked Roger, as he jumped up inalarm.
"Land sakes, no," said Adrian, "but if we're going to Tully with thegrapes, we'll have to start pretty soon. Dad went some time ago. Dress,and we'll have breakfast."
Roger looked out of the window while putting his clothes on. It was justgetting faintly light, and some stars were still to be seen. From thekitchen there came the good smell of hot coffee and buckwheat cakes withfried sausage, and Roger knew his aunt was up.
While the boys were eating the excellent breakfast Mrs. Kimball set onthe table, she put them up a good lunch in a basket, as they would notbe home to dinner. In a short time they were ready for the start, andthe wagon clattered out the side yard, Adrian driving the big whitehorse.
It was a pleasant trip to Tully, a town about eight miles from Cardiff.The first part of the journey was along the valley road, but at theupper end of this there began an ascent, which led up a steep hill to asort of plateau on the small mountain top.
Past the scattered farmhouses they drove in the early dawn, and theyhad proceeded nearly a mile before the sun peeped up smiling from behindthe hills, to send the gray, misty fog swirling lazily upward. The whitehorse pulled nobly up the incline, stopping now and then to rest at the"thank-'e-ma'ams," as certain places in the road were called; beingmounds of earth dug across the highway, designed to prevent the toosudden rush of water down the hill during a rain. These hummocks servedto divert the water to one side like a gutter, and also made goodresting places, for they held the rear wheels of the wagon. At lengththe boys reached the top of the hill and started off on a level stretchfor Tully, where Andrews Brothers had a store, at which Mr. Kimball soldconsiderable produce.
James Andrews, one of the brothers, was arranging some barrels of applesoutside the place when Adrian drove up.
"Good morning, Mr. Andrews," called Adrian.
"Same to you," replied the store-keeper, heartily. "What brings you overhere so early?"
"I've got that load of grapes you ordered of my father."
"Load of grapes?" with a puzzled air.
"Yes. Father got your letter, and he didn't have time to come overhimself to-day, so I made the trip."
"But I didn't order any grapes--Oh, yes, I did, come to think of it;but, Ade, I didn't want 'em until next week. I said so in my letter.Let's see, to-day is the 18th. I ordered 'em for the 26th. Can'tpossibly use 'em this week, for I've got all I need. Sorry," as he sawthe disappointed look on the boy's face. "Just tell your father if helooks at my letter he'll see I asked him to send a load over next week.Better try some of the other stores, they might need 'em."
"Well," said Adrian, slowly, "I s'pose you're right, Mr. Andrews, andfather must have read your letter wrong. So I guess the only thing to dois to try to get rid of this load over at Smith's or Brown's."
"Don't forget I 'll want some a week from to-day," cautioned Mr. Andrewsas Adrian drove off. "Be sure and tell your father."
"I will," called back Adrian.
Two rather sober-faced boys watched the white horse slowly jog along theTully street. They had expected to unload the grapes, get the money andhave a nice drive back, taking their time. But the wrong date had upsettheir plans. However there was a chance that Mr. Brown or Mr. Smithmight need grapes, and the prospect of selling their produce therebrightened matters for a little while. But their hopes were soonshattered, for, at both places, the supply of this fruit was largeenough to last several days, though both proprietors said they would bein the market next week.
"Well," said Roger, slowly, as they turned about from a visit to thelast store, "I suppose the only thing to do is to go back home."
"What? And with this load of grapes unsold?" exclaimed Adrian. "Notmuch! I came to Tully to sell them, and I'm going to do it."
"How?"
"By peddling them from h
ouse to house. Dad expects me back with themoney for these, and I'm going to bring it if I can. You needn't help ifyou don't want to. I suppose you're not used to peddling, but I've doneit before."
"Well, I guess I will help," replied Roger, a little hurt to think thathis cousin felt he wouldn't stand by him in an emergency. "Here, we'lldrive along, and I'll take one side of the street, and you can go on theother."
"That'll be just the thing," said Adrian.
So the two boys started in to get rid of the fruit. They went from houseto house, carrying the baskets with the covers off to show the big red,white, and purple clusters. They inquired politely of the villagerswhether they didn't need some freshly picked grapes, at ten or fifteencents a basket, and, before they had been in half a dozen places eachone had sold four. The bony old white horse jogged slowly along theroad, contentedly stopping now and then to nibble a sweet bunch ofgrass.
At first Roger was a little bashful about going to houses peddling, forhe had never done that sort of thing before. But he soon got the knackof it, and, though at several places the old ladies said they thoughtthey wanted no fruit that day, he didn't mind the refusals. Adrian hadgood luck on his side of the road, and sold many baskets. By noon theyhad gone over all of the main and only street in Tully, and had disposedof a little more than half the load.
"I guess we can't sell any more here," said Adrian as he counted overhis money.
"What'll we do? Go back home?"
"No, I guess we'll push on to Dagman's Corners. That's only four milesfarther, and we can peddle some on the way. But, come to think of it,I'm hungry. Ain't you?"
"A little bit," admitted Roger with a laugh.
So the boys drove a short way out of the village, and pulled the whitehorse up along side of a grassy bank. After Adrian had fixed the oats,which they had brought with them, so that the patient nag could eat, heopened the lunch his mother had put up for him and Roger. There was aclear spring of water near by, and from this the boys and the horsedrank. It was like a picnic instead of work, Roger thought, as hebreathed in the pure, cool air, and felt his cheeks glowing in theOctober sun.
The meal over they took a brief rest, and then resumed the trip. In thenext village they succeeded in disposing of all the remaining grapes,the dusty miller of the town taking the last four baskets. Thus, withabout fifteen dollars snugly tucked away in his pocket, Adrian felt thathe and Roger had accomplished something worth while, for he had receiveda little higher price for the fruit by peddling it around than if he hadsold it to Mr. Andrews, who would have paid wholesale rates, while theboys had done business at retail.
"I don't call this bad," commented Adrian as he turned the horse for thejourney home.
"I should say not," agreed Roger, heartily.
It was the first time he had ever taken an active part in any realbusiness transactions, and it made him want to do more in that line whenhe saw how self-reliant Adrian had been in the trading.
When the boys reached Tully on the return trip it was five o'clock. Theyhad eight miles to drive, but, as Adrian knew the road, he didn't mindthe gathering darkness, though to Roger it seemed strange, for he hadnever driven in the country after nightfall. In the city it was verylight after dark, but here in Cardiff it was almost as black as ink whentwilight had faded, for there were no street lamps to dispel the gloom.
It was mostly down-hill going now, and the old white horse, knowing hisstable and a manger full of oats was ahead of him, jogged rapidly along.It grew darker and darker, until, when they reached the top of the longslope of Tully hill, the last vestige of the slanting rays of the sundisappeared, and night had settled down. Calling cheerfully to the horseAdrian whistled a merry tune, and Roger joined in. Then they talked ofvarious topics,--of the success of their trip, and what they would doto-morrow and next day.
"That's the last house in the village of Tully," said Adrian, suddenly,indicating a lonely cabin. "Pete Hallenbeck lives there, but he can't behome to-night, or there'd be a light in the window. He's lived all alonesince his wife died. After we pass this there's not a place whereanybody lives for three miles, until we get to the edge of Cardiff."
They went along for a mile or so, whistling and singing. Suddenly therewas a jolt of the wagon, and Roger, who was sitting well toward thefront of the seat, felt himself thrown forward with considerable force.Instinctively he stuck out his hands, and he felt them strike the broadhaunches of the horse. Then, with a rattle and bang he kept on fallingdown until he had rolled out completely on the animal's back, and thenceoff to one side, into the soft grass along the road, where he laystunned.
He could hear, as in a dream, Adrian faintly shouting to him, and thensomething seemed to flash by him. There was a confused rattle and rumblethat grew fainter and fainter, and the blackness became more intense.
As if he was falling fast asleep he heard a voice calling: "Roger!Roger!"
Then his eyes seemed to close tightly and he knew nothing more, as helay in a huddled heap on the ground.