The Forbidden Trail | Page 3

he
always slept much longer than when she merely allowed him to sob
himself quiet. So though his father still advocated whipping, she had
concluded that whipping led only to further nerve exhaustion and she
had stopped that form of punishment.
Half an hour later Roger rolled over on his back and stared for a
moment wide eyed, at the ceiling. Then he got up quickly and running
over to his mother, he threw his arms about her neck and kissed her
passionately.
"Oh, Mother! Mother! I love you so! I'm so sorry I slapped your hand. I
will be good! Oh, I will be good!"
He took the hand which he had struck in both his own and kissed it.
"Poor hand," he half sobbed, "poor hand!"
"All right, dear," said his mother, freeing her hand gently. "Now, go
make up with the other children."
Roger darted out the door and his mother heard him shouting to his
playmates.

It was an hour later that she went to the back door, to send Roger home
with Charley. What she saw there sent her flying once more to interfere
with the children's play. Fastened by bits of rope and twine to the plank
were her three choicest sofa cushions, of white silk which she herself
had embroidered. A child lay on its stomach on each of these, wildly
gesticulating with legs and arms while Roger played the garden hose on
them.
The four culprits in a sodden row before her, Mrs. Moore sought
counsel from Mrs. Wolf, who had come hurrying at her neighbor's call.
"What shall I do with him? It was his idea, he says."
"Sure it was," exclaimed Roger stoutly. "We were shipwrecked sailors.
The tempest had raged for three days like in 'Swiss Family Robinson.'"
"But why did you get the sofa cushions?" asked Mrs. Wolf.
"Oh, that was my invention to make the teeter-tauter more comfortable.
Then they made nice waves for us to rest our stomachs on when we
swam."
"You knew how I prize those cushions. That one with the roses took me
all last winter to do," said Roger's mother sternly.
"I--I--yes, I kind of knew, but I forgot. I always forget when I'm
inventing. Don't I, Ern?"
Ern nodded and put his arm over Roger's shoulder.
"I must try to help you to remember, little son." Mrs. Moore sighed.
"For three days you cannot play with Ernie and Elschen."
Instantly a howl rose from the two little Wolfs. "We can't play without
Roger! It was our fault too!"
"Indeed, that's too hard on all of them, Mrs. Moore. We'll have bedlam
for three days," protested Mrs. Wolf.

"But he's always losing his temper and hurting your children,"
exclaimed Mrs. Moore.
"But he keeps them interested, anyhow," replied the little German
mother. "They never ask to go away when Roger is with them. There's
something so lovable about him in spite of his temper."
"He hit me in my poor little belly--" began Elschen.
"Elschen!" shrieked her mother.
"Stomach," Elschen substituted hastily. "My poor little stomach. But I
don't care, I love him anyhow."
"But how about my sofa pillows?" asked Mrs. Moore.
"We'll give you the money out of our banks," said Ernie.
Elsa jumped up and down. "So we will! And you too, Roger!"
"Sure I will. And I'll iron the roses out for you."
The two mothers looked at each other with a glimmer of a smile in light
and dark blue eyes.
"You can each put a quarter in the Sunday School contribution box next
Sunday and we'll call it square. Do you agree, Mrs. Wolf?" Then as her
little neighbor nodded, Roger's mother went on. "Go change your wet
suit, Roger, and take Charley home. Lend me some of Elschen's little
things for her, Mrs. Wolf. The child is soaked."
"Mamma! That's a mile out to Prebles'," roared Roger.
His mother looked at him, completely out of patience. "Well, Roger!
after this afternoon's various performances!"
"Oh, I'll go!" cried Roger hastily. "I was just talking, that was all!" and
he fled to the house.

Roger and Charley, hand in hand, trailed up the street in the haphazard
manner of childhood. The Prebles lived on a farm half a mile beyond
the limits of the town of Eagle's Wing. The board walk ended not far
beyond the Moores' house and the children automatically chose the
center of the road where the dust was deepest. By scuffling their bare
feet continuously they managed to travel most of the distance to the
farm in a cloud of dust which Roger explained was a deep sea fog.
Dick Preble met them at the door of the farm house. Dick was a stocky
boy of ten with a freckled face surmounted by a thatch of