“Then where can we go on our vacation?” Ted questioned, before his mother had a chance to answer his sister.
To the Curlytops Cherry Farm meant a great deal. Ever since they could remember they had heard it talked of at home, and more than once they had gone there for visits, sometimes in winter and again in summer. Grandpa was Daddy Martin’s father, and Cherry Farm was the nicest place in the whole world, so the Curlytops thought.
There was a big white house. There were red barns, broad, green fields, shady trees, horses, cows, sheep, a little brook, a lake—oh, so many delightful things! And now——
“Why can’t we go to Cherry Farm?” asked Jan again.
“Because there may not be a Cherry Farm any more,” answered Mother Martin, and her voice was sad.
“Did—did somebody take it?” asked Ted, and yet he did not quite see how anyone could pick up a big farm and walk off with it, especially when it had on it houses and barns to hold it down, as teacher used to put a weight on the papers of her desk to keep the wind from scattering them about the room.
“Somebody may take it,” said Mother Martin. “It’s too much for you little folks to understand. However, I’ll tell you about it as well as I can. But here comes daddy. Wait until after supper, then we’ll talk.”
“Hello, everybody!” cried Daddy Martin, coming into the room and catching up first Jan and then Ted. “Where’s Trouble?” and he looked around for Baby William.
“Oh, Trouble had—trouble,” said his wife with a smile. “He waded in the mud of the brook. Nora is cleaning him now.”
“Little Trouble in a brook,