A successful venture

by Ellen Douglas Deland

The winter days passed quickly, filled as they were with things of importance to do. The first planting of mushrooms was successful; and Peter, upon his return from the Boston market, to which he took them, proudly added his earnings to the family purse. He pretended that he felt it but a small thing to do, and that the future would prove that he was considering deeds of far greater moment than the cultivation of mushrooms; but in reality he was becoming immensely interested in the pursuit.

Victoria’s violets bloomed in February, and they also were taken to Boston, and disposed of to a florist. Dave Carney attended to this part of the business for her, and was indeed most useful in every way. The Starrs had never been able to discover anything about the antecedents of this member of the household, and in fact they had not made any great effort to do so. They liked the boy, and they found him both obliging and dependable. Peter knew that he had a brother, for he saw one day in Fordham a young man who so closely resembled Dave that he was on the point of speaking to him; and when he questioned Dave upon the subject, the boy told him briefly that it was his brother, and that he was a few years older than himself. He said nothing more, and Peter did not ask for further information, as was characteristic of him.

It was a mild winter, and although there were frequent falls of snow, they were always succeeded by days of such springlike warmth that there was neither sleighing nor coasting, and scarcely any skating.

His sisters suspected that Peter was not particularly happy in his school life, but he did not tell them so. He was a boy who did not make friends easily, and the mere knowledge that he was looked upon as an interloper by the boys at the school which he attended, drove him still farther into his shell, as it were. He had little to do with them, and usually came home as soon as the day’s session was over.

Sophy and Sirius together always watched eagerly for his return, both consumed with the same hope and desire that Peter would invite them to join him in whatever he intended to do—a hope which was more apt to be fulfilled in the case of Sirius than of Sophy. An eight-year-old sister is by no means so interesting a companion, Peter thought, as an active and particularly intelligent dog.

There were occasions, however, when Sophy was bidden to bear him company; and, on a certain afternoon, the little girl was made happy by the announcement that Peter was going for a walk, and if she wanted to go, and would promise not to get tired, and not to make a fuss if they came across any muskrats or field mice, and, in fact, to show no signs of fear about anything which they might meet, she should be allowed to accompany her brother and his dog.

Sophy, transported with delight, and ready to promise anything in the way of courage, ran for her hat and jacket and quickly followed Peter to the barn, whither he gone to inspect the mushroom bed. It was a mild day in early spring. The young leaves had just burst forth upon the trees, and the smell of earth, and the gentle murmurings of the little brooks in pasture and woods, and the soft freshness of the breeze, showed that another winter had passed. Many of the birds had returned to their summer homes and were busily engaged in nest-building, and little chipmunks darted about in a ceaseless game of tag, pausing for a moment to peer inquisitively at Sophy with their bright eyes, and then vanishing from sight. Peter, having attended to his affairs at the barn, took his way across the pasture. Sirius scampered on in advance, nosing here and there along the path, stopping to investigate every hole and barking noisily at a gray squirrel, which climbed the trunk of a tree at his approach, and then sat on a branch in safety, but extreme indignation. “Do squirrels go to sleep in winter, Peter?” asked Sophy, as she trudged along close to his side.

“They do usually, but it was so warm this winter I guess they didn’t get so sound asleep. I’ll tell you something, Soph. Carney and I both think the same thing. You know people always say that when there are a lot of nuts, it means that we are going to have a cold winter and the squirrels will have plenty to eat. Well, you know there were plenty of nuts last fall, and look at the winter we’ve had! As warm as toast. I think, and Carney thinks so, too, that it means a warm winter to have so many nuts. The squirrels are not going to sleep so much, and so they will need more food. And look at last year; scarcely any nuts in the fall and an awfully cold winter. I’m going to write to the Transcript about it sometime, and see what people say. Other people will answer, and it will be lots of fun. Sophy, I’ll tell you something if you’ll promise never to tell. Will you?”

“Do you mean never?”

“Yes, never, until I’ve done it. Then I’ll tell it myself.”