Hidden Treasures | Page 4

meadow, was
the young orchard well grown and badly in need of pruning. The route
he had taken soon brought him out into the lane at the foot of the hill,
near the cider mill, where he stopped to drink of the cool sap that
flowed into a large tin pail, from one of the sugar-maple trees under
whose branches the mill stood. How good it tasted to the thirsty boy, as
he drank slowly from a long-handled dipper that someone had
conveniently left hanging on the tree. When he had quenched his thirst,
he picked up his suitcase again, resting it on one shoulder, and
continued up the lane to the house.
"Hello, grandma!" he shouted, as he dropped his luggage on the porch
and hurried forward to meet her as she emerged from the kitchen door,
a steaming kettle of vegetables in her hand.
"Why, Bob, where'd you come from?" she exclaimed, setting the kettle
down and kissing him.
"I looked for grandfather and Uncle Joe when I got off the bus in town,
but I couldn't see them anywhere, so I walked out," he replied.
"Why, I'm sure they expected to meet you, Bob," she replied, "but the
roads are so rough, I suppose they were late. They took some grain to
the mill and would have to wait for it to be ground, and they may have
been delayed there--but you haven't told me yet how all the folks are."
"Oh, they're all pretty well," he replied; "but tell me, when is Uncle Joe
to be married?"

"Some time in April, I believe," she replied. "Do you know you're to be
his chore boy this summer?"
"Yes, father told me--it will be lots of fun. Just think--no more working
all cooped up in a store like the last two summers," he replied
enthusiastically.
"But it won't be all fun, you know, Bob. Your Uncle Joe has bought the
farm, although it's not all paid for yet, and I imagine he'll keep you
pretty busy--if I know Joe," she added.
"Let me get you some water, grandma," he said a moment later, seeing
her pick up the tin water-pail; "I'll start right in now and get my hand
in," he laughed.
"You always were a hustler, Bob, even if you don't grow very fast," she
said, looking at his over-large clothes, as he left the kitchen.
"I hope your Uncle Joe will remember that you're not grown and can't
do a man's work, even if you're willing to try," she said on his return, as
she watched him set the pail of water on the kitchen table.
"Why, I'm eighteen now, grandma, and weigh one hundred and ten
pounds," he answered stoutly.
"Well, this is a big farm, Bob, and it's gotten pretty well run down in
the last few years with your Uncle Joe out West and your grandfather
feeling too poorly to do much more than look after the crops," she said.
"Are there big fortunes to be found in the West, grandma?" he asked a
moment later.
"No bigger than right here, Bob," she replied. "It's only a matter of
work, and I'm beginning to believe that after all it is as much a matter
of managing properly as working hard. Do you know that your
grandfather and I are going to move to town as soon as your Uncle Joe
gets married?"

"Why, no, I didn't--who'll look after things here when you go away?"
asked Bob.
"Oh, your new aunt will see to that," she replied. "I hope you'll like her,
Bob."
"Who is she and what does she look like?" he inquired with boyish
eagerness.
"She used to be a school teacher and lived with us while she taught our
school," she replied; "that's how your Uncle Joe met her. She has plenty
of good looks--too many, I sometimes think, for a farmer's wife--and
she is a real New England Yankee woman, who doesn't know how to
milk cows."
"How could any one be too good-looking to be a farmer's wife,
grandma?" laughed Bob. "Why should good looks keep her from being
successful?"
"Well, you see, Bob, nice white hands are generally spoiled by rough
work," said the old lady.
"But why will she have to do the rough work when she comes here?"
persisted Bob.
"Oh, I guess she won't have any to do--at least, that's what your Uncle
Joe says," replied his grandmother with a haughty toss of her head.
"That's what he's got you down on the farm for."
"Oh," said Bob, dryly, "and so that's why he was so extremely anxious
for me to come."
"Yes, that's why, Bob--you might as well know sooner as later, that
you're going to be a pretty busy boy this summer. Your Uncle Joe