The White Crystals Part 15

For the next few days the two boys were busy about the farm and garden, Roger helping Adrian as much as he could in the various tasks the country boy had to look after, or which he undertook of his own accord.

When there was nothing else to do they gathered old bones, until they had quite a heap back of the barn. One day the collector came from the fertilizer factory and paid Adrian two dollars for what there was, and the boys were as much pleased as older persons would have been over a larger sum.

Thus the time pa.s.sed for several weeks, during which the remainder of the crops were gathered in. The potatoes were stored in bins in the cellar, and along side of them were the beets, the turnips, the carrots, the cabbages and onions; enough vegetables, Roger thought, to feed a regiment. Barrels of apples were stowed away in dark corners, with the promise of many pies and dishes of sauce. The swing shelves of the cellar groaned and squeaked under the weight of canned fruit,--peaches, pears, quinces, plum-sauce, apple-b.u.t.ter, and grape jelly,--and it was quite a treat for the boys to go down and gaze at the rows of gla.s.s jars which held the sweets in reserve.

The barn was well filled with hay, the oat-bin bulged with fodder, and the silo, where the cornstalks were kept as feed for the cows, seemed like to split apart with its rich contents. The corn-crib, through the openings on the sides, showed a wealth of golden grains, which indicated not only johnny-cake for the house, but plenty of eating for the chickens. In short, there was every indication that whatever else happened there would be no lack of meals in the Kimball home that winter.

While grim care was not altogether absent from Mr. Kimball, owing to the fear that his money matters were hopelessly involved, he seemed to have lost some of his outward signs of worry. He became more cheerful, and as the days went by and the others tried to imitate his example, the household was a more happy place. At any rate, nothing was likely to happen until spring, and by that time something might turn up. At least that is what they all hoped.

The weather was getting colder now, the mornings being rather raw and chill, though there was an invigorating feeling in the air which was noticeably absent from the atmosphere of the city. The nights, too, had grown frosty, though so far only a thin white coating on the ground had greeted the boys as they crawled, s.h.i.+vering, out of bed. But winter was at hand and its coming was antic.i.p.ated by the animals who, in the woods and fields, were busy laying up their food supplies.

One evening, when Roger and Adrian were returning from Hank Mack's store, they noticed the clear brightness of the stars overhead.

"Whew!" whistled Adrian, as he turned his coat collar up, "there's going to be a black frost to-night," and he ran on a few steps, with hops and jumps, to warm up his blood.

"What's a black frost?" asked Roger.

"I don't know, only that's what they call it when it freezes real hard and there ain't any white frost on the ground. A white frost is a white frost, and a black frost is a black frost, that's all I know."

"And you think there'll be a black frost to-night?"

"I bet there will. Then we can go chestnutting to-morrow. The burs will be down by the wagonload, and I know where we can get bushels of nuts."

"Bushels of chestnuts?" questioned Roger, who had only seen as many of the s.h.i.+ny brown fellows at one time as could be heaped on some street vendor's stand.

"Yes, sir, bushels," maintained Adrian, "and, do you know, they'll sell for about five dollars a bushel this year."

"I should think they might, judging by the few you get from the Italians for a dime," said Roger, thinking of how often he had bought the roasted or boiled nuts from the stand at the corner near his home.

The boys now set off, racing towards the house. They spent the evening reading and talking. About nine o'clock, when Adrian stepped to the spout at the side door to get a fresh drink of water, he came back with red cheeks and announced that it was growing much colder.

That night Jack Frost descended on Cardiff valley with all his forces.

It got colder and colder, a tingling, vigorous cold that snapped the nails in the clapboards on the house. The morning dawned clear, and a breath of the fresh bracing air made the blood race through the veins.

"This is suthin' like weather," observed Mr. Kimball, rubbing his hands briskly, as he went out to the barn before breakfast to feed and water the cows and horses. "I'm glad it didn't catch us nappin', 'ith th'

grapes not picked."

He broke a thin sheet of ice on the horse trough.

"Thar'll be skatin' ef this keeps on," he added with a twinkle in his blue eyes, as he saw Roger and Adrian racing out after him. They leaped and bounded, for the bracing air made them feel like young colts running in a big field. Roger seemed to have improved very much in his health in a short time, and he was now a good second to his cousin, a most st.u.r.dy youth.

"Reckon it's goin' t' snow," said Mr. Kimball, as he carried a pail of water into the barn.

"To-day, dad?" asked Adrian, anxiously.

"Not afore night, I guess," said the farmer, "but I kin smell snow," and he sniffed hard.

"Well, I'm glad you can't smell it until night," laughed Adrian. "Roger 'n' I are going after chestnuts to-day."

"Wa'al, I haint no objections," remarked Mr. Kimball, holding the pail of water where Ned, the horse, could reach it. "Guess a trip chestnuttin' 'll be good fer both on ye. I'm goin' t' kill hogs t'-morrow, snow er no snow."

"That'll be lots of fun," said Adrian to Roger. "Come on, let's eat, 'n'

then we'll go."

The boys made a hurried breakfast and then, warmly clad, they started for the woods, carrying bags in which to gather the nuts. They had about two miles to walk, and when they reached the chestnut grove, Adrian saw he had not been wrong in his surmise that there would be a heavy fall.

They found the ground covered with the burs, which had burst open, showing the s.h.i.+ning brown nuts inside.

"Hurrah!" shouted Adrian. "Get to work! Here they are! Don't let the squirrels and chipmunks beat us."

Indeed, it was high time the boys started in, for there were scores of red and gray squirrels and the prettily striped chipmunks scampering about on the ground and in the trees, filling their pouch-like cheeks with the nuts, and then leaping and bounding away to their nests with the store of winter provender. The boys began to hustle, thres.h.i.+ng the burs from the nuts, and then scooping the latter into the bags they had brought. It wasn't long before they had gathered several pecks, and they didn't have to cover much ground to get them either.

Adrian packed nearly a bushel into his sack before he was satisfied, but Roger was content to lug home a little more than two pecks, as he was hardly strong enough to bear the weight of more. They tramped slowly back, stopping frequently to rest. Emptying the nuts into baskets they went again to the woods for more, for as Adrian said, the squirrels would soon make short work of the harvest unless the boys were lively.

On their second trip the hired man went with them, trundling' a wheelbarrow, and this time they brought away over three bushels, leaving as many more piled in a heap, the hired man going after them alone later.

"Got about seven bushels," announced Adrian, proudly, at the supper table. "Not bad, eh, pop?"

"I should say not," replied Mr. Kimball. "'N Porter Amidown were tellin'

me yist'day they'd gone t' six dollars a bushel."

"Then we'll send out six bushels in the morning, when Porter goes to the city," said Adrian. "One bushel'll be more than we can eat. That'll be thirty-six dollars toward the mortgage, dad."

"Bless yer heart," exclaimed Mr. Kimball, pretending that he suddenly had a very bad cold. "Bless yer hearts, boys, I--I--don't want yer money."

"But you've got to take it," decided Adrian and Roger in one breath, immensely pleased with their day's work, which had only been a pleasure, and feeling proud that it would amount to so much in money.

There was a light flurry of snow that night, and when the boys awoke next morning they found the ground hidden under a white, fleecy blanket.

They were not up early enough to see their chestnuts put on the stage to be sent to Syracuse, but Mrs. Kimball told them at the breakfast table that they went all right.

"Where's dad?" asked Adrian.

"Gittin' ready t' kill pigs," answered Mrs. Kimball.

"Hurrah! Roger! That'll be sport! Hurry up. Who's going to help him, mother?"

"I guess old man Hounson's comin' over. I heard yer father say suthin'

'bout him."

"Well, I reckon we can lend a hand at starting the fire, or something,"

said Adrian.

The boys went out to the barnyard as soon as possible, where they found Mr. Kimball getting ready to start a fire under a big caldron of water that was to be used at a later stage in the proceedings.

"Let us make the fire, dad," begged Adrian, and getting permission, he and Roger soon had a fine blaze going.

The snow was soon trampled down and melting near the fire of hickory logs, which crackled, sputtered, and sparked, filling the cold, bracing air with a pleasant nutty smell. The boys as well as Mr. Kimball and his hired man had heavy boots on, and they wore their oldest clothing, since preparing pigs for sausage and pork chops is not exactly clean work.

"Wa'al, I see yer gettin' ready fer me," spoke a high-pitched voice suddenly, and a tall, spare man, with a much wrinkled face and a little bunch of gray beard on his chin, walked up the driveway to where Mr.

Kimball and the boys were gathered about the heat. He too wore boots and an old overcoat. His arms were long and his hands bony and knotted.