A Daughter of the Rich Part 15

The rest joined in the singing with such goodwill that the noise brought in Chi from the barn. When he was told the reason for the rejoicing, he looked thoughtful, then sober, then troubled.

"What's the matter, Chi? Cheer up! You have n't got to pick them,"

said March.

"'T ain't that; but I hate to throw cold water on any such countin'-your-chickens-'fore-they 're-hatched business," said Chi.

"'T is n't chickens; it's preserves, Chi," laughed Rose.

"I know that, too," said Chi, gravely. "But suppose you do a little figuring on the hind-side of the blackboard."

"What _do_ you mean, Chi?" asked Hazel.

"Well, I 'll figure, 'n' see what you think about it. Seventeen dozen times four, how much, March?"

"Eight hundred and sixteen."

"Hm! eight hundred and sixteen gla.s.s jars at twelve and a half cents apiece--let me see: eight into eight once; eight into one no times 'n'

one over. There now, your jars 'll cost you just one hundred and two dollars."

There was a universal groan.

"'N' that ain't all. Sugar 's up to six cents a pound, 'n' to keep preserves as they ought to be kept takes about a pound to a quart. Hm, eight hundred 'n' sixteen pounds of sugar at six cents a pound--move up my point 'n' multiply by six--forty-eight dollars 'n' ninety-six cents; added to the other--"

"Oh, don't, Chi!" groaned one and all.

"It spoils everything," said Rose, actually ready to cry with disappointment.

"Well, Molly Stark, you 've got to look forwards and backwards before you _promise_ to do things," said Chi, serenely; and Rose, hearing the Molly Stark, knew just what Chi meant.

She went straight up to him, and, laying both hands on his shoulders, looked up smiling into his face. "I 'll be brave, Chi; we 'll make it work somehow," she said gently; and Chi was not ashamed to take one of the little hands and rub it softly against his unshaven cheek.

"That's my Rose-pose," he said. "Now, don't let's cross the bridges till we get to them; let's wait till we hear from New York."

They had not long to wait. The next day's mail brought three letters,--from Mrs. Heath, Mr. Clyde, and Jack. Hazel could not read them fast enough to suit her audience. There was an order from Mrs.

Heath for two dozen of each kind, and the a.s.surance that she would ask her friends, but she would like her order filled first.

Mr. Clyde wrote that he was coming up very soon and would advance Hazel's quarterly allowance; at which Hazel cried, "Oh-ee!" and hugged first herself, then Mrs. Blossom, but said not a word. She wanted to surprise them with the gla.s.s jars and the sugar. Her father had enclosed five dollars with which to pay Chi, and he and Hazel were closeted for full a quarter of an hour in the pantry, discussing ways and means.

Jack wrote enthusiastically of the preserves and chickens, and, like Hazel, added a postscript as follows:

"Don't forget you said you would write down for me the song about Love that Miss Blossom sings when she is kneading bread. Miss Seaton is just now visiting in Boston. I 'm to play in a polo match out at the Longmeadow grounds next week, and she stays for that." This, likewise, Hazel kept to herself.

Meanwhile, the strawberry blossoms were starring the pastures, but only here and there a tiny green b.u.t.ton showed itself. It was a discouraging outlook for the other Blossoms to wait five long weeks before they could begin to earn money; and the thought of the chickens, especially the prize chicken, proved a source of comfort as well as speculation.

As the twenty-first day after setting the hens drew near, the excitement of the race was felt to be increasing. Hazel had tied a narrow strip of blue flannel about the right leg of each of her twelve hens, that there might be no mistake; and the others had followed her example, March choosing yellow; Cherry, white; Rose, red; and Budd, green.

The barn was near the house, only a gra.s.s-plat with one big elm in the centre separated it from the end of the woodshed. As Chi said, the hens were sitting all around everywhere; on the nearly empty hay-mow there were some twenty-five, and the rest were in vacant stalls and feed-boxes.

It was a warm night in early June. Hazel was thinking over many things as she lay wakeful in her wee bedroom. To-morrow was the day; somebody would get the prize chicken. Hazel hoped she might be the winner. Then she recalled something Chi had said about hens being curious creatures, set in their ways, and never doing anything just as they were expected to do it, and that there was n't any time-table by which chickens could be hatched to the minute. What if one were to come out to-night! The more she thought, the more she longed to a.s.sure herself of the condition of things in the barn. She tossed and turned, but could not settle to sleep. At last she rose softly; the great clock in the long-room had just struck eleven. She looked out of her one window and into the face of a moon that for a moment blinded her.

Then she quietly put on her white bath-robe, and, taking her shoes in her hand, stepped noiselessly out into the kitchen.

There was not a sound in the house except the ticking of the clock.

Softly she crept to the woodshed door and slipped out.

Chi, who had the ears of an Indian, heard the soft "crush, crush," of the bark and chips underneath his room. He rose noiselessly, drew on his trousers, and slipped his suspenders over his shoulders, took his rifle from the rack, and crept stealthily as an Apache down the stairs. Chi thought he was on the track of an enormous woodchuck that had baffled all his efforts to trap, shoot, and decoy him, as well as his attempts to smoke and drown him out. But nothing was moving in or about the shed.

He stepped outside, puzzled as to the noise he had heard.

"By George Washin'ton!" he exclaimed under his breath, "what's up now?"

for he had caught sight of a little figure in white fairly scooting over the gra.s.s-plat under the elm towards the barn. In a moment she disappeared in the opening, for on warm nights the great doors were not shut.

"Guess I 'd better get out of the way; 't would scare her to death to see a man 'n' a gun at this time of night. It's that prize chicken, I 'll bet." And Chi chuckled to himself. Then he tiptoed as far as the barn door, looked in cautiously, and, seeing no one, but hearing a creak overhead, he slipped into a stall and crouched behind a pile of gra.s.s he had cut that afternoon for the cattle.

He heard the feet go "pat, pat, pat," overhead. He knew by the sound that Hazel was examining the nests. Then another noise--Cherry's familiar giggle--fell upon his ear. He looked out cautiously from behind the gra.s.s. Sure enough; there were the twins, robed in sheets and barefooted. Snickering and giggling, they made for the ladder leading to the loft.

"The Old Harry 's to pay to-night," said Chi, grimly, to himself. "When those two get together on a spree, things generally hum! I 'd better stay where I 'm needed most."

Hazel, too, had caught the sound of the giggle and snicker, and recognized it at once.

"Goodness!" she thought, "if they should see me, 't would frighten Cherry into fits, she 's so nervous. I 'd better hide while they 're here. They 've come to see about that chicken, just as I have!" Hazel had all she could do to keep from laughing out loud. She lay down upon a large pile of hay and drew it all over her. "They can't see me now, and I can watch them," she thought, with a good deal of satisfaction.

Surely the proceedings were worth watching. The moonlight flooded the flooring of the loft, and every detail could be plainly seen.

"n.o.body can hear us here if we do talk," said Budd. "You 'll have to hoist them up first, to see if there are any chickens, and be sure and look at the rag on the legs; when you come to a green one, it's mine, you know."

"Oh, Budd! I can't hoist them," said Cherry, in a distressed voice.

"They do act kinder queer," replied Budd, who was trying to lift a sleeping hen off her nest, to which she seemed glued. "I 'll tell you what's better than that; just put your ear down and listen, and if you hear a 'peep-peep,' it's a chicken."

Cherry, the obedient slave of Budd, crawled about over the flooring on her hands and knees, listening first at one nest, then at another, for the expected "peep-peep."

"I don't hear anything," said Cherry, in an aggrieved tone, "but the old hens guggling when I poke under them. Oh! but here 's a green rag sticking out, Budd."

"And a speckled hen?" said Budd, eagerly.

"Yes."

"Well, that's the one I 've been looking for; it's dark over here in this corner. Lemme see."

Budd put both hands under the hen and lifted her gently.

"Ak--ok--ork--ach," gasped the hen, as Budd took her firmly around the throat; but she was too sleepy to care much what became of her, and so hung limp and silent.

"I 'll hold the hen, Cherry, and you take up those eggs one at a time and hold them to my ear."

"What for?" said Cherry.

"Now don't be a loony, but do as I tell you," said Budd, impatiently.