Chapter Fifteen
Good-by Summer
SUMMER was almost over. The winding country roads were banked with golden rod and purple asters. The hidden silk of the milkweed floated like fairy wings on the still air. Mom canned peaches and tomatoes, and Aunt Claire pushed and coaxed crooked little pickles into jars.
Martins gathered on the telephone wires at the side of the road. There were mothers and fathers and uncles and aunts and many, many children. They chirped and twittered without end. The young ones darted about constantly as if to say:
“Enough of this talk, and these endless plans. Come, let us be off. See what a fine flier I am. See how cleverly I use my wings.”
The braggart would circle and dip, but he’d soon be back pushing his brothers about rudely to make a place for himself. Sometimes they all started off at once, and the sky was filled with the rushing of wings. Janie strained her eyes after them and sighed,
“If I could only fly along. What sights they must see! What wonderful adventures they must have! Good-by, good-by, until next summer.”
They disappeared in the distance, but early the next morning they were back again, like a bar of music against the sky. One day, of course, they would really leave.
The stove was squat and shiny, like a little old lady in a black taffeta dress. It crackled and glowed, and the curved sheet iron back got slightly pink. The copper tea-kettle on top quivered and spit like an angry cat. Mist hung over the lake and the grass was wet with dew. Uncle Jim, who had lived in China, always described the weather as a one-coat day or a two-coat day. Late August mornings at Oak Lake were one-coat. Breakfast time was one sweater, and by nine o’clock it was hot and clear with shivers and sweaters forgotten.
Mr. Murray took Mr. Mott to the stamp dealer who was pleased as he could be about the rare old stamps. He paid him one hundred and fifty dollars for the three that Daddy found the day of the fire, and offered to buy any more that might turn up. The old man was overjoyed. He paid his delinquent taxes and bought a coaster wagon full of provisions at the store. Everyone ran to the gate to watch him come down the road. Mirandy was hitched to the wagon, and she tripped along with her head high and her whisker waving in the breeze. Her eyelashes dropped demurely, and a stranger looking at her would never have guessed that she was as temperamental as an opera singer and as wicked as sin. Mr. Mott wore a new shirt, violently plaid.
“Good morning,” he called, bowing and smiling. “Good morning Mrs. Murray, good morning folks! Mighty fine weather we’re having.”
The Murrays laughed and waved and called out to him.
“He has a gold mine in that little old chicken coop of his,” said Mom. “He came down here last night with another stack of letters. Daddy figured that the stamps on them should be worth about six hundred dollars, and he found a certificate of stock that might still be sold for a tidy little sum.”
“Oh, Mom,” said Janie. “Do you suppose he’ll move back into the big house and fix it all up again the way it used to be?”
“No, I don’t think he ever would. He’s an old man now, and he’s content to leave things pretty much as they are. I hope he’ll clean up that shack of his. He didn’t say anything about that, although he did speak of having a vacation.” Billy sat on one stone post and Janie sat on the other. “Doesn’t he look grand Bill?” asked Janie as they admired the retreating procession. “He turned out to be quite nice after all. Do you remember how we used to run at the sight of him? I used to shiver at the very mention of his name, and all the time he was just a harmless old man.” Billy smiled and shook his head.
“It’s funny,” he said, “how just being kind to a person will improve his disposition. I wonder what he’ll give Daddy for a present.”
“Billy,” Jane exclaimed. “It isn’t polite to wonder what people are going to give you for a present, and besides, it will probably be a stamp. He must know that Daddy is just crazy about stamps, even if he doesn’t collect any more.”
Billy shaded his eyes as he looked across the road. “Yes,” he said. “It will probably be a stamp. What’s that moving under the little cottage?” He jumped off the post and ran. “Queenie is out again. That’s the second time this week she got out.”
“Better catch her in a hurry,” called Jane. “The last time she got out she ate Mr. Landry’s petunias, and Mom said the next time we’d have fried rabbit.”
“Murder,” growled Bill. “She gets in there under the foundation, and I can’t get in after her, then the minute I go away she’ll come out and run away.”
“Come on, Queenie,” called Jane. “Better to be in your cage than in the frying pan.”
“Stop that blood-thirsty talk,” said Billy making a face. “You know Mom was only fooling.”
Jane giggled. “Maybe she was, but don’t tell Queenie. She’s been a naughty girl, and she needs discipline.”
“This isn’t funny,” grumbled Billy. “You get on the other side of the house, and catch her when she comes out. I’ll chase her out with this long stick.” Jane looked dubious, and he continued: “And don’t let her slip through your fingers!” He waved his branch, and out streaked Queenie, right through Janie’s outstretched hands and into Landry’s flower bed. There she sat nibbling on asters, and every time they would get close enough to lay hands on her, she would dash off to another corner of the yard.
“I know what I’ll do,” said Billy. “You stay here and keep an eye on her, and I’ll catch her with my landing net.” Back he came in a few minutes with his long-handled net, but Queenie was gone. “Billy, I’m so sorry, I just couldn’t help it. I was looking right at her and she just disappeared.”
They scouted around the neighborhood, but no sign of a white rabbit.
“Maybe a dog ate her,” said Billy mournfully.
“Maybe she was run over by a car,” brooded Jane. They walked slowly out to the end of the lot where the hutch stood, and then they both stood open-mouthed in astonishment. There, on her bed of clover, sat Queenie eating a carrot!
“Well, mow me down,” said Billy when he could get his breath.
“She’s a witch,” said Jane.
Leaving the cottage at the end of the season always came as a surprise. It seemed that everything would be as usual one day, and the next morning the air would be full of preparations for going home. The boats had to be taken in and turned upside down to dry out. The raft never came in until the last afternoon of their stay, but screens had to come off, and awnings had to be taken down. Janie always felt a little pang of sadness at the thought of going back to town. Life in Springhill was exciting and interesting, but the long summer days at the lake were so much fun.
Grandma and Aunt Claire went back to town early, but the Murrays stayed until the last day before school started. Dad had the trailer again, and this time it was piled up higher than ever.
On the last morning Janie waded through a maze of packing boxes and suitcases on the porch. Davey was feeding Butch, and Mom was doing her best to persuade James that he could not bring a large fish into town to be mounted.
“But, Mom,” said James, “it’s the biggest fish I ever caught.”
“I’m sorry, my boy. You should have thought of that while he was still fresh, and not after he had been left down at the pier for two days.”
“But, Mom,” James repeated. “He’s the biggest fish I ever caught.”
Mom didn’t say anything. She just squinted her eyes and pinched her nose shut between her first finger and her thumb. James looked at her for a moment, and then he said,
“All right, all right,” and he took the fish out and buried it.
Dad and Bill were stacking packing boxes in the trailer. Jane ate breakfast in a hurry off the edge of the kitchen sink, and then she made the rounds to see that all the windows were fastened securely. Billy had fixed a covered market basket for Blackie and Queen and he set out for the back yard to get them started on the journey. He came back with his eyes bulging.
“What do you suppose that Queenie did now?”
Mom sat down on a packing box and looked desperate. “If she ran away again,” she said, “she can stay away. I’m not going to stop everything now and go looking for her.”
“But, Mom,” said Billy.
“Don’t ‘But, Mom’ me! I’ll not start looking for her again this morning.”
“But, Mom, she didn’t run away.”
“She didn’t run away? Then what are you talking about?”
“She had puppies. I mean rabbits. Babies. Lots of them.”
The whole family let out one big shout and ran for the back yard. True enough, Queen and Blackie were the parents of a large and handsome family. Mom and Daddy laughed so hard they leaned against the garage. “Let’s get out of here,” Mom said, “while we still can. The longer we stay here the more complicated things get.”
They went back to the cottage and hunted for something warm to wrap the baby rabbits in. Everything had been packed away, but Davey volunteered an old blanket of Butchie’s, and the infants were made ready for their first long trip.
The trailer was pretty well packed when Janie spied Mr. Mott and Mirandy coming down the road. “Hey, hey,” she cried. “Here comes Mr. Mott with Daddy’s present. He said he was coming, and here he comes.”
“Janie,” said her father. “Don’t talk like that. You children have made all this talk about a present sound like something that it never was intended to be. What I did for Mr. Mott was no more than one neighbor would do for another. I didn’t expect a reward, and I don’t expect one now.”
“Maybe you don’t expect one, Daddy,” said James, “but you’re going to get one.”
“Good morning, folks,” said Mr. Mott. “I see you’re getting ready to leave, and I came to say good-by.”
“Don’t say good-by yet,” said Mom. “We’ll be out for week-ends all during the nice fall weather.”
“City folks always say that,” said the old man, “but when the time comes they get busy in town, and they stay there. Labor Day is usually the end of things out here.”
“What do you do out here all winter,” asked Mr. Murray.
Mr. Mott patted Mirandy on the back. “Time was when I used to do a lot of hunting and fishing, but I’m getting a little old for that. I cleared a nice little heap of money on my stamps, and I figured that this year I’d spend the winter in Florida. I’ve heard the fishing is real good down there.”
“Good for you,” said Dad with a sort of surprised look on his face.
“Yes,” said Mr. Mott blowing his nose. “I’ve been mighty lucky, and you folks have been the cause of it all. I’ve been figuring and figuring what I could do for you and I’ve settled on Mirandy. She’s the finest thing I own. She’s smart, and she’s gentle, and she’d make a good pet for your children.”
Mom looked dazed, and Dad kept saying “But, Mr. Mott....”
“I’ll just tuck her right in here in the trailer beside the bicycle. A little grass and some water is all she needs. Now don’t you thank me,” he said as Dad started to protest. “You did me a good turn, and I want you to have Mirandy. I really do.”
A gentle rain began to fall. The baby rabbits were asleep in Janie’s lap in the back seat of the car. King and Queenie were in a market basket under Billy’s feet. Davey was balancing a bowl of goldfish, and Butch, terribly excited, was pointing and making impolite noises at the creature with the chin whisker who stood in the trailer and looked bored. Mr. Mott wrung Mr. Murray’s hand in farewell, and he walked down the road toward the bus station. The car began to move down around the curve and the children looked back at the snug little cottage.
“Good-by summer,” they called. “Good-by. We’ll be back again next year.”