“Well, that narrow gap where Goose Brook comes down through the valley, plus some money we might be able to earn this summer showing people around. Maybe it equals a dam and saving the village.”
Bill thought about that while he searched the dried leaves beneath a giant bull oak for more ammunition. “How much you figure a dam would cost?”
Ronnie shrugged. “I haven’t got the slightest idea. A hundred dollars, maybe?”
Bill shook his head. “Maybe more like a thousand. Maybe ten thousand.”
“Well, it would be a beginning anyway. And I know people hereabouts who would want to see the village saved, too, and I’ll bet if they heard how we were working to earn money, maybe they’d help out too. My dad knows the president of the historical society in town, and he told Dad he was sick hearing about how the village would be bulldozed and flooded, and if there was anything the society could do to help, he should just speak up.” Ronnie sighed. “I’d sure like to try to earn the money to save the village. It would be fun, too—you and me and maybe Phil, if he wants to, and you don’t care.”
“And then if we can’t use the money for the village, we can always have it to put in the bank.”
“Let’s try it, huh, Bill?” Ronnie said.
“It’s a deal! Rorth and Beckney, Guided Tours of the Rorth Glassworks’ Deserted Village.”
As they walked together down the path, each of the boys was filled with ideas as to how they would proceed. There would have to be a sign on the highway, of course. And the road leading into the village would need some repairs, and the branches overhanging it should be pruned short. They’d have to decide upon how much to charge and what they’d tell their guests about each of the buildings.
They stopped where the path divided—one route leading toward the Beckney farm, the other, up the embankment to the Rorth orchard.