Ethel Mortons Holidays | Page 2

and not jokes at
all ever since I saw an old woman at the upper end of Main Street
trying to hang her gate last year the day after Hallowe'en."
"Too heavy for her?"
"I should say so. She couldn't do anything with it. I offered to help her,
and she said, 'You might as well, for I suppose you had the fun of
unhanging it last night'."
"A false accusation, I suppose."
"It happened to be that time, but I had done it before," confessed Roger,
flushing.
"You never happened to see the result of it before."
"That's it. I just thought of the people's surprise when they waked up in
the morning and found their gates gone. I never thought at all of the
real pain and discomfort that it may have given a lot of them."
"Your Club may be doing a good service to all Rosemont if it proves
that young people can have a good time without making the 'innocent
bystander' pay for it."
"We're going to prove it; to ourselves, anyway," insisted Roger stoutly,
as he leaped out of the car and took his grandfather's parcels into the
house.
"The pumpkins are in the barn," Mr. Emerson called after him. "Go
down there and pick them out when you've given those bundles to your
grandmother."
The big yellow globes were loaded into the car--half a dozen of
them--and Mr. Emerson drove back to the house. As he stopped at the
side porch for a last word with his wife he gave a cry of recognition.

"Look who comes here!" he exclaimed.
"Helen and Ethel Brown," guessed Roger. "Don't they look like those
soldiers we read about in 'Macbeth'--the fellows who marched along
holding boughs in their hands so that it looked as if Birnamwood had
come to Dunsinane."
"Roger is quoting Shakespeare about your personal appearance,"
laughed Mr. Emerson as he and his grandson relieved the girls of their
burdens.
They sank down on the steps of the porch and panted.
"You're tired out," exclaimed their grandmother. "Roger, bring out that
pitcher of lemonade you'll find in the dining-room. How far have you
walked?"
"About a thousand miles, I should say," declared Helen. "We were
bound we'd get out-of-door decorations if they were to be had, and they
weren't to be had except by hunting."
"You're like me--I like to use out-of-door things as late as I can; there
are so many months when you have to go to the greenhouse or to draw
on your house plants."
"Ethel Blue and Dorothy have been educating the Club artistically.
They've been pointing out how much color there is in the fields and the
woods even after the bright autumn colors have gone by."
"That's quite true. Look at that meadow."
Mrs. Emerson waved her hand at the field across the road. On it sedges
were waving, softly brown; tufts of mouse-gray goldenrod nodded
before the breeze; chestnut-hued cat-tails stood guard in thick ranks,
and a delicate Indian Summer haze blended all into a harmony of warm,
dull shades.
"You found your grapevine," said Roger, pouring the lemonade for his

weary sisters, and nodding toward a trail of handsome leaves,
splendidly yellow.
"It took a hunt, though. What are you doing over here?"
"Getting the pumpkins Grandfather promised us."
"You're just in time to have a ride home," said Mr. Emerson.
"You're in no hurry, Father; let the girls rest a while," urged Mrs.
Emerson. "Can't you make a jack-o'-lantern while you're waiting,
Roger?"
"Yes, ma'am, I can turn you out a truly superior article in a wonderfully
short time," bragged Roger.
"He really does make them very well," confirmed Helen, "but it's
because he always has the benefit of our valuable advice."
"Here you are to give it if I need it," said Roger good naturedly. "We'll
show Grandmother what our united efforts can do."
So the girls leaned back comfortably against the pillars at the sides of
the steps and Mrs. Emerson sat in an arm chair at the top of the flight
and Mr. Emerson sat in the car at the foot of the steps and Roger began
his work.
"It'll be a wonder if I make anything but a failure with so many bosses,"
he complained.
"Keep your hand steady, old man," teased his grandfather. "Don't let
your knife go through the side or you'll let out a crack of light where
you don't mean to."
"Be sure your knife doesn't slip and cut your fingers," advised Mrs.
Emerson.
"Save me the inside," begged Ethel Brown. "I'm going to try to make a
pumpkin pie."

"Save the top for a hat," laughed Helen. "I'll trim it with brown ribbon
and set a new style at school."
Roger dug away industriously under the spur of these