Hidden Treasure Part 18

"I'm sorry I didn't buy them myself," said the driver of the wagon, who had been a farm hand for the former owner. "They're the greatest honey-makers I ever saw. But I didn't have any place to take them, so I had to let them go. You're a lucky boy--you got them for a song, but do you know how to handle them?" he inquired. "You'll have to look out for them now very carefully, or you may lose them. The spring is the time they require watching so they don't starve."

"I've been reading up a lot about them," said Bob. "But what's in that box?" he asked, as the driver unloaded his last piece--a large box like a tool chest.

"These are your things for handling them, Bob--a smoker, a veil, some tools and a lot of extra parts and things. If you want me to, I'll come out the first nice warm day and help you look them over. I'm not afraid of them. Call up my sister on the 'phone, 770, and tell her when you want me. My name's John Adams."

"Yes, I will," said Bob, "and I'll pay you for your time, too, for while I've read some, I've had no actual experience with bees."

"Well, to-night, after sundown, take the blocks from the entrance and let them fly around in the morning. You may lose a colony or two until you learn how to handle them, but you needn't worry; they're good breeders and will soon make up for that--but be sure and keep the hives cool in hot weather, then they won't swarm so quickly."

When they got back to the house all the new cattle and other stock had been put away, and the men were ready to return home. That night before setting the new chickens at liberty, Bob caught and killed the two remaining Dunghill roosters.

It was a tired but happy family that went to bed at ten o'clock that night, instead of the regular hour of nine.

It seemed to Bob that he had just closed his eyes when bedlam broke loose. His first thought was of the new stock, then of the dynamite, but as he sat up in bed he realized it could not be either of them-- so, throwing up his window, he looked out.

In the moonlight he could distinguish many of their neighbors, who were armed with everything from sleigh bells to horse fiddles, and the racket they made in the stillness of the night seemed greater than any noise he had ever heard. As he raised his window, a shout went up, the neighbors thinking it was Bob's uncle, but seeing their mistake they redoubled their efforts and kept the racket going for a half hour or more. Then his aunt and uncle appeared, and invited the party into the house, where the lamps were already lighted.

Congratulations were extended, a hasty lunch was set out, the cider barrel tapped and a general good time enjoyed for an hour or more.

Many of the boys had been former pupils of the bride and they were happy that she had chosen to come and live among them.

Joe Williams disappeared for a moment and when he returned he carried a large bottle of wine with a long blue ribbon tied to it.

"Boys," he said, when the cheering had stopped, "you all know that with the exception of cider, I never drink anything."

"Oh, don't let that worry you, Joe, we're not so modest," they shouted, but he only held up his hand for silence.

"This bottle of wine was given to us by a very good friend for a certain purpose. We had intended to wait until later to use it, but I don't know any better time than just now, when our friends are all here to carry out our plans, so come out into the yard a moment," and they all adjourned to the front yard.

Here Joe Williams and his bride stepped over to a young apple tree and handing her the bottle, he tied the ribbon to a limb.

"Now, boys, Bettie and I've decided to give our farm a name and sell our produce under that name--a sort of a trade-mark or standard of merit, so now while you're all here, we'll perform the ceremony."

Taking the bottle firmly in both hands, the bride stepped back, stretching the ribbon tight, then with a light shining in her eyes that was not a reflection of the moon, she called in a clear voice, "I christen you 'Brookside Farm,'" and sent the bottle crashing against the tree amid the cheers of the crowd.

When silence had been partly restored, a man was seen mounting the steps of the porch, and holding a stout stick in his hand, he placed one end of the stick against his lips and there floated out upon the stillness of the night the old familiar air, "Home, Sweet Home." When he had finished there were many shining eyes in the crowd, but only Bob recognized in the disappearing figure his new friend Tony, whose natural artistic nature had been responsible for such a fitting tribute.

When the boys had all gone home, Bob's aunt called him to the kitchen.

"Take this up to Tony and thank him for me for the very fine touch he added to our ceremony," and she handed him a plate heaped high with cake, alongside of which his uncle set a large goblet of their rare old elder-berry wine--a mark of distinction conferred by his uncle only upon honored guests.

XII

THE DAIRY HOUSE

While his uncle planted the oats Bob and Tony laid the water pipe in the new trench, the plumbers put in the new fixtures and laid a sewer to the new cess pool. A couple of sticks of dynamite prepared the hole for the latter, which was later walled up by Tony with large loose stone and covered over with a concrete slab--later on when they built the new house they would put in a concrete septic tank, but for the present this cess pool would answer. After laying the water pipe, they borrowed a scoop from Brady and gathered up enough dirt to fill the trench.

Tony and Bob now built the concrete enclosure around the spring. An inch pipe connection for a future water trough was put in each field crossed by the trench, and a valve placed on the line well under ground to prevent freezing.

By using a section of two-inch pipe set vertically over the valve, they could open and close the valve with a long-stemmed wrench.

By the end of the week all was completed, and there was running water in the house.

Sat.u.r.day arrived and they had found no one to look after the pit. They were discussing the matter and wondering whom they could get, when Alex Wallace came over to see Bob about some sand they needed to build a new wall under their barn.

"You don't happen to know of any one we could get to look after our sand pit, do you, Alex?" asked Joe Williams, as Alex came up.

"Would it be heavy work, Joe?" asked Alex.

"No, it would be an easy job--just taking a ticket from the drivers of the trucks for every load they take away, and making concrete fence posts between times.

"Then I've the very man for you," replied Alex; "my father's brother, Duncan Wallace. He's a Scot, like my father, and was a stone-cutter, but the stone dust got into his lungs and he came to the country to see if he couldn't get better. He isn't very strong, but he could do any kind of light work."

"How much would he want to work for us, Alex?" asked Joe Williams.

"I'm sure I don't know," he replied. "I'll bring him over this evening and you can talk to him yourself. I want to get a couple of loads of sand, Bob," he said, addressing the latter. "How much will you charge me?"

"Fifty cents a yard, Alex--cash or work," replied Bob. "If you'd rather work it out than pay the money, we'd be glad to have the work.

You can do the work in your spare time."

"What would the work be?" asked Alex.

"The first job," said Bob, looking inquiringly at his uncle, "is digging a row of fence post holes along the main road to fence in our property. We want to put in concrete fence posts and a wire fence along the main road. After that's up we'll have lots of other fencing to be done."

"How much will you want an hour for your time, Alex?" asked Joe Williams.

"Well, about thirty cents," replied Alex.

"All right, we'll put you down for thirty cents an hour, you to work as many hours as will be required to pay for whatever sand and gravel you get. Of course, you can do the work whenever you have the spare time. We'll stake out the post holes and show you the size we want them dug. You must always let us know when you're going to work, though, so we can keep account of your time and give your credit."

"All right," said Alex, "when can I get the sand?"

"Monday morning," said Bob, "and your uncle can keep account of how much you get."

On Monday morning Joe Williams took the new team and went to town for a wagon-load of Portland cement. The few bags they had in the shed were all used up in the repairs around the spring and cellar. As it had been decided at the conference with John White, the banker, on Sat.u.r.day, to build a new concrete dairy house and ice house, equipped with running water, it was necessary to lay in a new supply of cement.

Bob looked up the cement bulletins on the handling of concrete, and found that cement should be put in a shed piled on planks raised above the floor, and that the shed should have a tight roof. The only building that would answer these conditions was the wagon shed, and after considering the matter, he decided that by moving the wagons around a bit he could get a s.p.a.ce at one end near the door that could be used for this purpose.

He got some old timbers eight inches thick, and six feet long, and laid them on the ground four feet apart, and on top of these he put some two by ten plank, and by the time his uncle returned with the first load he had a platform ready to receive the cement.

"It's very important, Uncle Joe, to keep the cement dry and up from the ground so it won't set before we use it, for the first bag in, you know, will be the last bag out, and cement costs too much to lose any of it."

As soon as dinner was over, Joe Williams went back to town for another load, hauling it up the new road, same as the first load.