The Brownie Scouts in the Cherry Festival

“‘Ella Cooper’,” Connie read aloud.
Brownie Scouts in the Cherry Festival (See Page [201])

The Brownie Scouts in the Cherry Festival

by
Mildred A. Wirt

Illustrated

CUPPLES AND LEON COMPANY
Publishers New York

Copyright, 1950, by
CUPPLES AND LEON COMPANY

All Rights Reserved

THE BROWNIE SCOUTS IN THE CHERRY FESTIVAL

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

[CHAPTER 1]
Crazy Quilt

STITCH-stitch-stitch.

Six needles nibbled at the gay scraps of cotton cloth. Six pairs of scissors went snip, snip, snip as the Brownie Scouts worked at their sewing in the Williams’ living room.

The girls were making a crazy quilt. Dark-eyed Veve McGuire, who hated to sew, declared that the task was as silly as the quilt’s name.

“Oh, bother!” she exclaimed as her thread tangled into an ugly knot. “Why not pitch this old thing and think of an easier way to earn money?”

“I don’t mind sewing,” piped up Rosemary Fritche, who always liked to be cooperative.

“Neither do I,” chimed in Connie Williams. A leader among the Brownies, she had worked very hard to make the organization a success.

“But sewing a quilt is a lot of work,” sighed Sunny Davidson.

Eileen Webber and Jane Tuttle, the other two girls who made up the Rosedale Brownie Scout troop, nodded sober agreement.

Miss Jean Gordon, the Brownie leader, had suggested weeks before that the girls sew and sell the quilt to raise money.

No one wanted to be disloyal or lazy. But the girls had stitched steadily for nearly six meetings now. Even for Connie and Rosemary, who liked to sew, the task was becoming a bit tiresome.

“How else could we make money?” speculated Jane. She folded her patchwork and gazed thoughtfully at Veve.

“W-e-ll—” Veve was unprepared for the question. “We could tend babies maybe. Or run errands.”

“Everyone thinks we’re too young to look after babies—for pay, that is!” returned Jane, tossing her long, yellow pigtails.

“And folks always forget to offer money when you do something for them,” added Eileen.

“Well, there must be some way we could earn money,” Veve insisted. “Maybe there’s an advertisement in the paper.”

Taking the afternoon paper from the table, she spread it out before her on the rug.

Veve was still studying the ads when Miss Gordon came briskly into the living room. The Brownie leader, who also taught fourth grade, had brought a plate of freshly baked cookies and a pitcher of chocolate milk.

“Any tired little Brownies here?” she asked in her cheery voice. Miss Gordon was very pretty, always pleasant, and the girls loved her.

“We all are,” answered Connie Williams, and the others nodded in agreement.

“Piecing blocks is hard work,” grumbled Veve. “The thread tangles. Besides, I pricked my finger twice!”

“Dear me, I’m afraid this session of sewing has run on a little too long,” replied the Brownie leader. “But making a quilt is so worth while. And you’ve done splendidly!”

Miss Gordon placed the pitcher of milk on the table as she bent to inspect the pieced blocks.

All the Brownies except Veve had done very well indeed. So rapidly had the quilt grown, that very soon it would be ready for the quilting frames.

Now the coverlet was an amazing thing. Blocks were of all color, shape and size. A red triangle of cloth taken from one of Connie’s cotton frocks, snuggled against a square which once had been part of Eileen’s outgrown black checked jumper.

Even the stitching was different. Rosemary had used beautiful feather stitching. Connie had pieced her blocks with a briar stitch. Veve had used very plain and long ones.

Nevertheless, the over-all effect was pleasing despite the “crazy” hit-or-miss pattern which gave the quilt its name.

“My thread knotted,” Veve explained. Out of the corner of her eyes, she had noticed that Miss Gordon frowned as she examined a badly stitched orange block. “Anyway, I don’t like to sew!”

“Why, Veve!” Miss Gordon smiled at the little girl. “Our lovely quilt is nearly finished now.”

First she unknotted the tangled thread and sewed a few neat stitches just to encourage Veve.

Then she told the Brownies they might put away their patchwork for the day. Connie and Sunny began to pass the cookies and glasses of cool milk.

Veve scarcely nibbled at her cookie. Instead, she kept reading the advertising page of the paper.

“I wish I could find an easy way to make money,” she mumbled. “Only no one seems to want a baby sitter.”

Miss Gordon began to tell the girls about the various types of quilts.

“Beautiful patterns were originated by pioneer women who outdid themselves to see how cleverly they could piece the blocks,” she declared. “Many of our earliest American patterns were adapted from designs on rugs and shawls brought to this country from Europe and the Orient.”

“Quilt patterns have names too,” declared Rosemary eagerly.

“Indeed, they do. Can you mention any of them, Rosemary?”

“‘The Hand of Friendship,’ and the ‘Pine Cone.’ My mother has one she calls an ‘Album’ quilt.”

“Altogether, there are hundreds of patterns,” explained the Brownie leader. “Some of the better quilts were signed with the name of the maker.”

“Is that the same thing as an autograph quilt?” asked Connie. She had heard her mother speak of such a coverlet.

“No, in a true autograph quilt, each block was inscribed with the name of the person who made it,” Miss Gordon replied. “Many of the blocks were dated.”

“Were the names stitched on?” inquired Sunny, reaching for her third sugar cookie.

“Sometimes they were. Then again they often were written on the block with indelible pencil or ink. These old type quilts are historically important.”

Having ended her little talk, Miss Gordon handed around several books which showed quilt patterns in beautiful colors.

Veve, however, was too deeply absorbed in the newspaper to look at the pictures when they were passed to her.

“Girls, how would you like to have a quilt show?” Miss Gordon asked unexpectedly.

All the Brownies pricked up their ears and listened hard. Even Veve forgot for a minute that she didn’t much care for anything connected with quilts.

“How can we have a show when the only quilt we own isn’t finished?” This practical question came from Connie.

Miss Gordon explained that she did not expect the Brownies to sew all the quilts which would be displayed in the show.

No, indeed! Instead, she proposed that the girls borrow from their acquaintances as many different types as they could.

“I can bring my mother’s album quilt!” Rosemary offered eagerly.

“I know where I can get a beautiful orange and yellow one,” added Connie. “It’s called the ‘Sunburst’ pattern and is out of this world!”

The girls chattered excitedly, discussing where they could obtain quilts to display in the Brownie show. Veve, however, was more interested in the advertisement page of the Rosedale Herald.

Suddenly she uttered a squeal of delight. “Say, I’ve found it! This ad is just the thing!”

“Oh, who wants to be a baby sitter?” scoffed Eileen. “Having a quilt show will be more fun.”

“Who’s talking about being an old baby sitter?” Veve thrust the newspaper page under the other girl’s eyes. “This is a chance to make real money!”

“Doing what?” demanded Sunny skeptically.

“Picking cherries.”

Veve’s announcement took the Brownies so by surprise that they stopped eating cookies.

“Where?” questioned Connie. Although she intended to remain loyal to Miss Gordon and the quilt show, she couldn’t help being interested.

“Just read the ad!” Veve had jumped up from the rug and was prancing around the room like a frisky steed.

“How can anyone read it with you hopping up and down?” Eileen demanded. “Hold still a minute!”

As Veve quieted down, the Brownies crowded around to see the advertisement for themselves.

It read: “Cherry Pickers Wanted Immediately. Two Cents a Pound. Apply Wingate Farm, Rt. 1, Clove Rd.”

“Two cents a pound!” Veve chortled. “I bet I could pick a hundred pounds in just a few minutes.”

“Like fun you could,” scoffed Jane Tuttle. “Where is Clove Road anyhow?”

“Just at the edge of town,” supplied Connie. “I’ve seen the Wingate Farm too. We drove past it one Sunday afternoon when the cherries were in bloom. Oh, the orchard was pretty then!”

“Cherry picking might not be so bad,” spoke up Sunny Davidson. “And we could earn money fast.”

Miss Gordon waited until the Brownies had talked about the matter for a while. Then she said:

“Girls, not for anything would I discourage you in any of your plans. However, I think cherry picking might be very hard work. Perhaps more tiring than sewing quilt blocks.”

“It would be exciting though,” Veve cut in quickly. “We’d earn a lot of money too for our troop.”

“I’m a little afraid the advertisement may have been intended for grownups,” the Brownie Scout leader went on.

“You mean they wouldn’t take children as pickers?” Veve asked, her disappointment keen. “Why, we’d be good at it.”

“I’m sure you would, dear. It’s possible they’d take Brownies, but—”

“Then why don’t we do it?” Veve broke in before the teacher could finish. She was eager to have the matter decided at once.

“We really know nothing about Wingate Farm—”

“I’ll find out!” Veve offered. “As soon as the Brownie meeting is over, I’ll ride out there on the bus and talk to the man in charge.”

Miss Gordon smiled at her enthusiasm.

“I suppose it will do no harm to investigate,” she admitted. “But you mustn’t go alone or without your mother’s consent.”

“I’ll telephone her.”

Veve’s mother worked in a downtown office. However, the little girl knew how to reach her.

The Brownies talked about the matter for quite a while.

“Why don’t we appoint Veve and Connie to find out all about it?” Rosemary proposed, winding up the discussion. “That is, if their mothers will let them go.”

“That’s what I think too,” chimed in Sunny.

So the decision was reached that the two girls, after obtaining permission, should make the trip to Wingate Farm that very afternoon.

Upon their return they were to report to Miss Gordon, who would notify the other Brownies.

“We’ll have to work fast to get the job,” Veve said anxiously. “I imagine a lot of people may have read the advertisement.”

The meeting now broke up with all the girls singing the Brownie organization song.

Immediately afterwards, Veve telephoned her mother to ask if she might go to the orchard. The distance by bus was not far.

“Why, yes, if Connie is going with you,” Mrs. McGuire consented after hearing the plan. “But don’t stay late.”

Meanwhile, Connie had gone to the kitchen to talk to her mother.

Mrs. Williams was quite busy washing dishes the Brownies had used for their refreshments.

“If only I had the car this afternoon, I gladly would drive you out to the orchard,” she told her daughter. “How far is it, dear?”

“Oh, not far,” Connie assured her. “Veve and I don’t mind a bit going by bus. We’ll be back long before dark.”

“If you can wait until tomorrow, I’ll have the car.”

“We don’t dare wait, Mother. If we do, other folks will get the job instead of our Brownie organization.”

Mrs. Williams knew that this might be true. So after thinking a moment, she said Connie might go.

The two girls wore their Brownie beanies and put on light coats over their brown pinchecked uniforms. Mrs. Williams gave Connie enough bus fare for both girls.

Veve frequently took a bus downtown and knew which one they must catch to reach the outskirts of Rosedale.

“It’s marked ‘Crosstown,’” she told Connie. “I don’t think the bus runs very often though. We’ll have to watch sharp or we may miss it.”

In about ten minutes along came a yellow bus which had “Crosstown” printed on a card in the front window.

When it stopped at the curb, Veve and Connie climbed aboard. They dropped their fare into the box.

Then, just to make certain they were going the right direction, Veve said to the driver:

“This bus goes to Wingate Farm, doesn’t it?”

“Where’s Wingate Farm?” he asked. By this time the bus was moving.

“It’s on Clove Road,” shouted Connie. She had to yell to make herself heard above the roar of the big motor and the clash of gears.

“Clove Road?” The bus driver shook his head. “This bus only goes to the city line. Clove Road’s a half mile beyond.”

Connie and Veve were aghast.

“Then we’re on the wrong bus!” Connie exclaimed.

“You can transfer at the city line,” the driver said, stopping for a traffic light. “You’ll have a twenty minute wait. Board a Fulton bus and it will take you directly to Wingate Farm. Coming back you may be able to catch a Rosedale bus which will eliminate the twenty minute wait. Got it?”

Connie and Veve weren’t at all certain that they understood.

So they asked the driver to say it over once more. To make sure she wouldn’t forget, Connie then wrote it down on paper.

“If we have to wait twenty minutes each way, we may be late getting home,” she said anxiously as they took seats.

“Oh, we can hurry after we get to Wingate orchard,” Veve replied. She was not in the least worried.

The nearly empty bus whizzed along at a fast clip.

Soon it had arrived at the city line and the end of the run. The friendly bus driver told the girls it was time to get off.

“Don’t forget,” he directed them. “The Fulton bus stops across the street. It should come along in twenty minutes. Don’t miss it, because after it leaves, another isn’t due for a long while.”

“We won’t miss it,” laughed Veve. “A Brownie Scout always is punctual.”

“Some Brownies are,” Connie corrected with a laugh.

She was thinking that upon more than one occasion Veve had been tardy for Brownie meetings. Once too, when the troop was on its way to Snow Valley, she had nearly missed the train.

However, Connie was not really worried about catching the bus.

The girls alighted and stretched their legs a bit.

“We have lots of time to look around,” Veve remarked. “Twenty whole minutes.”

They gazed into a drugstore window before crossing the street to the other bus stop.

“Let’s get a dish of ice cream,” Veve proposed. “One with nuts and whipped cream on it.”

This suggestion Connie promptly turned down.

“Why, Veve, you greedy girl! Didn’t you have milk and cookies at the meeting?”

“Yes, but that was a long time ago. I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Connie accused. “We might miss our bus if we don’t stay right here.”

“Oh, all right.” Reluctantly, Veve gave up the idea. “It will be tiresome waiting, though.”

The girls seated themselves at the curb, watching cars whiz past.

After a while, Connie arose and sauntered a short distance down the walk. She tried stepping over each crack. It seemed to make the time pass faster. The little girl had counted twelve cracks when she paused near a large white house. Something in the back yard drew and held her attention.

“Look, Veve!” she exclaimed.

On a clothes line hung a freshly washed green and white patterned quilt.

“Oh, isn’t it a dream!” she exclaimed.

“It’s as nice as any of those pictures Miss Gordon showed us,” Veve agreed, joining her friend.

“Wouldn’t it look beautiful in that show we’re going to have?”

“Grand, Connie. Let’s ask if we may have it!”

“Oh, no, Veve.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t know who owns it for one thing.”

“Well, it won’t take long to find out. Come on!” Veve seized Connie’s hand, pulling her a few steps along the sidewalk.

“We might miss our bus, Veve.”

“Oh, we have plenty of time. Anyway, it will take only a jiffy.”

Against her will, Connie allowed herself to be led along.

Pausing only a moment to admire the green and white quilt, the girls went directly to the door and rapped. A long while elapsed before they heard footsteps.

Meanwhile, Connie kept her eyes on the bus stop.

Finally, a pleasant-faced woman in a blue house dress came to the door. She smiled in a very friendly way when she saw the girls, for she recognized their Brownie uniforms.

“Well, I declare! Brownies!” she greeted them. “I’ll venture you’re selling cookies.”

“Oh, no,” Connie said breathlessly. “We saw your quilt on the line. It’s very beautiful.”

“The green and white one?” the woman asked, pleased that the girls had noticed it. “My mother made that particular one. It’s called the ‘Sawtooth’ pattern.”

“We were wondering—” Connie became a trifle ill at ease, then went quickly on, “—you see, our Brownie Troop is planning a quilt show. Miss Gordon—she’s our leader—asked each Brownie to get as many quilts as possible to display. So we thought—”

“We thought you might be willing to let us have your quilt—just for the show, that is,” Veve cut in quickly. “We will have to have your answer right away.”

“Right away?” the lady repeated. “Dear me, you have taken me so by surprise. I suppose you might have the quilt if I were certain it would be returned in good condition.”

“Oh, thank you,” Connie said gratefully. “We can’t take the quilt now, but we’ll come back later for it.”

“Dear me, you are in a hurry,” observed the lady. “You haven’t even told me your names or the troop to which you belong.”

Connie supplied the information, all the while keeping her eye on the bus stop. It seemed to her that twenty minutes must be nearly up.

“My name is Mrs. Grayson,” said the nice lady. “I have several other quilts, though none quite as nice as the ‘Sawtooth.’ But I do have something you should see!”

“What is that?” asked Veve.

“An old woven coverlet. It is blue and white and shows the face of George Washington.”

“The first president of the United States!” exclaimed Connie in awe.

“Yes, the coverlet is an historical treasure. It is in perfect condition. You really should have it for your exhibit as it is much nicer than the Sawtooth quilt.”

“And may we?” Connie asked eagerly.

“We’ll see,” promised Mrs. Grayson. “Before we decide, I’ll show it to you.”

By this time both Connie and Veve were becoming uneasy about how fast time was slipping away.

“We have to catch a bus,” Connie explained regretfully. “Please, may we come back tomorrow to see the coverlet?”

“Of course. What bus are you taking?”

“The Fulton,” Connie replied. “It’s due here almost any minute.”

“It’s more than due!” broke in Veve shrilly. “It’s coming!”

With a little squeal of dismay, she seized Connie’s hand. Not even taking time to say good-bye to Mrs. Grayson, they made a dash for it.

Already the bus had pulled up at its regular stop. Only two passengers alighted and not a single one got on.

“Hey, the driver’s not going to wait!” Veve cried in panic. “He hasn’t seen us!”

“Wait!” shrieked Connie. “Wait for us!”

Both girls were running as fast as they could and waving their arms.

The bus driver, however, did not see them. Already several minutes behind schedule, he slammed the door, and drove away.

For an instant, Connie and Veve were too stunned to say a word.

They gazed down the road at the fast disappearing bus, and then looked at each other.

“Brownies always are so punctual,” Connie said at length. “Oh, sure!”

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Veve replied in a subdued voice. “It—it just happened.”

“And now we’re stranded here.” Connie sounded a bit frightened, as indeed she was. “The driver told us another bus wouldn’t be along for a long time. Now what are we going to do?”

CHAPTER 2
Cherry Pickers Wanted

QUILTS and coverlets no longer seemed important to Veve and Connie as they realized that they were stranded at the bus stop.

An hour might pass before another Fulton bus came along. How were they to reach the cherry orchard?

“We never should have gone to that lady’s house to see the quilt,” Connie said, self-accusingly. “Oh, dear!”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Veve replied. “I made you go.”

“At any rate, the bus is gone, and we’re not on it. What shall we do?”

Veve had no answer.

However, Mrs. Grayson had been watching the two girls from her front porch. Of course she knew that they had missed their bus. Still wearing a kitchen apron, she came down the sidewalk toward them.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said. “Were you traveling far?”

“To Wingate Farm,” Veve supplied. She had to sniff very hard to keep from crying.

“Why, that’s not far,” declared Mrs. Grayson. “I know! I’ll get the car out of the garage and drive you there.”

At this unexpected proposal, Veve and Connie instantly perked up.

“Oh, will you take us?” Connie asked, all dimples. “Won’t it make you too much trouble?”

“Not in the least. Wait here, and I’ll soon pick you up.”

Mrs. Grayson re-entered her own home to change from her apron. Less than five minutes later she came outdoors again, this time wearing a hat and a light tan coat.

“Here we are,” she said, bringing her coupé to a standstill beside the curb.

Connie slid in beside Mrs. Grayson, while Veve sat on the outside. On the way to Wingate Farm, the girls chatted gaily, telling about their Brownie Troop and the quilt show which was planned.

Veve told her too about the exciting times the Brownies had enjoyed the previous year—at Snow Valley, and later with the circus folk. Both of these stories are related in the volumes, “The Brownie Scouts at Snow Valley,” and “The Brownie Scouts in the Circus.”

“I was the youngest Brownie to be ’nitiated,” Veve explained proudly. “Miss Gordon says I make more trouble than all the others put together. That’s because I’m always thinking up things to do.”

“Veve once was carried away on a sled hooked to an automobile,” Connie revealed. “Then another time, she crawled into a circus car and—”

“Never mind that,” broke in Veve. “I’m grown up now. Was it my fault we missed the bus?”

“No, it wasn’t,” Connie admitted. “Anyway, it’s much nicer riding with Mrs. Grayson.”

The girls began to talk of quilts once more. Mrs. Grayson told them that there were some which had political or patriotic names such as the Union Calico quilt, the Yankee Puzzle and the Confederate Rose.

“And do you have samples of them?” Connie asked eagerly. She hoped, of course, that the unusual quilts might be obtained for the Brownie quilt show.

“The only quilt of quality I have is the one you saw,” the woman replied. “And then, the woven Washington coverlet.”

“May we have them both for our Brownie display?” Connie asked the question before Veve could frame the same one.

“Yes, I think I can promise you the quilt and the coverlet,” Mrs. Grayson replied.

Veve sat very still for a moment. She was glad that Connie had obtained both a quilt and a coverlet for the show. All the same, she wished she had thought of asking for them first.

Mrs. Grayson had slowed the car to peer at mailboxes along the road. The name, Carl Wingate, had been painted on one of them.

“Here we are,” the lady announced. “Wingate Farm.”

All along the road the cherry trees were so loaded with scarlet fruit that the boughs hung almost on the ground. The girls had never seen a more beautiful sight.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right now?” Mrs. Grayson asked, opening the car door. “Oh, yes,” Connie assured her. “Thank you for the ride and the quilt.”

Scarcely noticing as Mrs. Grayson drove on, the girls gazed up and down the road. On either side, as far as could be seen, stretched row upon row of cherry trees.

“It looks like a sea of red,” Veve declared in awe. “There must be millions and millions of pounds of cherries here! Don’t you wish we could pick them all?”

“Every single one!” laughed Connie.

Both girls were now in high good humor, thinking of the money they and the other Brownies would make for the troop. Unfastening the gate, they walked between rows of cherry trees, up a winding driveway toward the house.

When the two girls were half-way up to the dwelling, they heard someone speaking in a loud, angry voice. At first they could not guess who might be talking, for they could not see the speaker.

But his voice reached them very clearly.

“Juan, you’re a lazy, no-good!” the man shouted. “Three times today I’ve told you not to bruise the fruit in stripping it! But do you pay attention? Not the slightest. Either you’ll take orders, or quit the orchard. Savey?”

“Si, Senor,” came the muttered reply.

“Now get back to your picking,” the man snapped.

Veve and Connie had rounded a bend in the road and now were able to see the two speakers. The man, who wore a rough checkered shirt and large straw hat, was short and fat. His sunburned face twisted into hard lines as he talked.

The one he addressed appeared to be a Mexican lad, no older than 10 or 12 years of age. Juan was dressed in ragged grayish-white trousers and shirt. He too wore a straw hat to protect himself from the sun, but was barefoot.

The boy scooted off with his empty cherry pail as the girls approached. Rather nervously, Connie and Veve spoke to the man, who eyed them in a most unfriendly way.

“We’re looking for Mr. Wingate,” said Connie politely.

“Well?” the man demanded.

“Can you tell us where to find him?”

“I am Wingate. What d’you want? Be brief, because I’ve got work to do.”

Connie and Veve gazed at each other in dismay. From the very first moment, they had disliked this man because of his rough way of speaking. And now he proved to be Mr. Wingate, the man for whom they expected to work!

“Well, what d’you want?” the owner of the orchard repeated. He fast was losing patience. “Out with it!”

“Please—” Connie swallowed twice and struggled on. “We would like a job picking cherries.”

“Not just us,” Veve amended quickly. “All of the Brownies.”

“The Brownies?” Mr. Wingate demanded. “Who are they? Fairies?”

“Oh, no!” Connie corrected. “We’re an organization. Our troop motto is: ‘Lend A Hand.’ That’s what we want to do here at your cherry orchard.”

“For pay, that is,” added Veve. She was afraid Mr. Wingate might get the wrong idea.

“I hire only experienced pickers,” the orchard owner said. “Can’t use kids.”

“But we heard you talking to a little boy,” Veve reminded him.

“Sure, but he’s one of the Mexicans. I use a crew of ’em—professional pickers. A stupid lot too!”

“Don’t you need any more pickers?” Connie persisted.

“I need experienced pickers, sure. My fruit is ripening fast and if I don’t get it marketed, I’ll lose a nice profit.”

“Then may we have the job?” Veve asked hopefully. She did not like Mr. Wingate, but she thought he might be nicer to the Brownies than to Juan.

“Listen!” the man exclaimed. “I told you once! I hire only experienced pickers. I can’t be bothered with a bunch of fairies—”

“Brownies,” said Connie, flushing. “And we are dependable. Ask Miss Gordon.”

“Run along,” Mr. Wingate ordered. “I have work to do and you’re bothering me.”

Thus dismissed, Veve and Connie dejectedly walked back to the main road. After all their hopes and plans, they were not to be allowed to pick cherries. It was very discouraging.

“Never mind, Veve,” her friend said to cheer her. “We’ll make money when we sell the crazy quilt.”

“But it would have been more fun to have picked cherries.”

“I don’t think it would have been very nice working for Mr. Wingate, Veve. He talked so ugly to that little Mexican boy. Miss Gordon never would have wanted us to work for him.”

“And he was fussy about the way the cherries were picked,” Veve agreed. “I guess it wouldn’t have been much fun.”

Arm in arm, the girls walked up the road, looking for a bus stop. They were becoming tired now, and wished that Mrs. Grayson had waited for them. Evidently, she had driven on home, for her coupé was nowhere to be seen.

“I’m thirsty,” Veve said presently. “I wish I had a drink of water. Or maybe a handful of those cherries.”

Thoughtfully she gazed toward a tree whose heavily laden branch hung over the fence.

“Oh, no you don’t!” said Connie, reading her mind. “Those cherries belong to Mr. Wingate. Not to us. We’re not taking a single one.”

“Who wants any of his stupid old fruit? Anyway, I think the trees on the other side of the road have larger and riper cherries.”

“We’re not taking any of those either, Veve McGuire!”

“Oh, I’m not swiping anything,” Veve retorted. “But it doesn’t do any harm to think how nice those juicy cherries would taste. SAY—”

The last was uttered in a loud voice, for the little girl had noticed a painted sign on the fence to the left.

In large red letters it read: “Pickers Wanted.”

“That’s us!” exclaimed Veve. “We’ll get a job for the Brownies yet!”

Connie, however, was less enthusiastic. She pointed out that very likely if they applied, they would be turned down again.

“Well, it won’t hurt to try,” Veve insisted.

“We may miss our bus again.”

“We’ll get home somehow,” Veve waved aside the objection. “Don’t you want a job, Connie?”

“’Course I do. Only I didn’t like Mr. Wingate.”

“But this is across the road, so it can’t be his orchard. The gate’s just ahead. Let’s go in, Connie. I’ll do the talking this time.”

The barrier had been securely fastened with a chain. The girls could not open it. However, they climbed over and started up the gravel driveway.

Cherry trees were everywhere, fairly dripping red treasure. Under many of the boughs, fruit had fallen to the ground.

A few ladders stood against the low, well-pruned trees. Back in the orchard only a few pickers could be seen.

In vain the girls looked about for a dwelling. Where a house once had stood there now was only a gaping, burned-out hole.

“Why, the place is all gone except its foundation!” Veve exclaimed. “The house must have burned a long while ago, and never was rebuilt.”

The only building to be seen was a long, low shed in which cherries were sorted and packed for market.

Stepping to the open doorway, the girls peered inside.

A bent old man, his back toward them, busily packed cherries into a big box. He whirled around upon hearing footsteps. And a shaggy white dog that had been dozing in a corner, sprang up with a warning snarl.

Startled, Veve and Connie retreated.

“Down, Cap!” the old man ordered the animal. To the girls he said: “Don’t be afraid. He won’t bite you or anyone else. I keep him on the place to frighten off intruders. His bark, though, is all bluff.”

Thus reassured, Veve and Connie stood their ground. They rather liked the old man who looked like a farmer in blue overalls and white shirt. His face was friendly and his eyes twinkled as he studied them.

“I’m Pa Hooper,” he introduced himself. “What may I do for you young ladies?”

Now this made Connie and Veve feel quite at ease. And even Cap tried to show them that they were welcome, for he came sniffing at their heels.

“We saw your sign,” Veve said, going directly to the point. “We would like a job picking cherries.”

As Mr. Hooper kept studying her, not saying a word, she told him about the Brownie organization. And Connie added that Mr. Wingate next door had sent them away most rudely.

“We may not be experienced pickers, but we can learn,” she declared. “Just give us a chance and we’ll prove what Brownies can do.”

Pa Hooper was greatly impressed with the direct approach of the two little girls.

He told them he very much needed pickers because some of the larger orchards had hired most of the Mexican pickers.

Unless his fruit could be harvested quickly, he might lose a large portion of it.

“Then are we hired?” Veve questioned.

Still Mr. Hooper hesitated.

“I scarcely know what to say,” he told her kindly. “Cherry picking isn’t as easy as it looks. You might fall from a ladder and hurt yourself. In that case, I’d be liable.”

“Brownies are taught to be careful,” Veve assured him. “You wouldn’t catch us falling off a ladder!”

Pa Hooper chuckled. “I pay a cent and a half a pound for stripping,” he explained. “That’s not as good a rate as some of the orchards offer. It takes a lot of cherries to weigh a pound.”

“We won’t mind,” Connie said. “Please, Mr. Hooper, let us try! The trees aren’t high, and you could let us pick the lower branches.”

The orchard owner thought a moment. Then he said:

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Suppose I test you with a half hour’s picking? If you do well, and think you would like the work, then I might hire all the Brownies. How many are there of you?”

“Six, not counting Miss Gordon,” supplied Veve. “Where do we start?”

Mr. Hooper said he would show the girls as soon as he had finished packing another lug.

The box was a fancy one, filled with especially large cherries.

Other boxes in the shed were “jumble” pack. This, Mr. Hooper explained, meant that the fruit was not placed in any particular order.

After he had finished sorting cherries for the fancy box, the orchard owner told the girls to follow him.

Mr. Hooper led them to a low-hanging tree near the roadway. Two short ladders already were in place.

The orchard owner showed the girls how to strip cherries rapidly from the trees.

Even if a few stems fell into the pail, it would not matter, he said. Once the cherries reached the canning factory, they would be washed and stemmed.

“I’ll be back here in half an hour,” Mr. Hooper said. He handed each girl a tall tin bucket. “Just be careful. Don’t climb more than a few steps on the ladders.”

Veve and Connie mounted separate ladders. At first they went up only three steps. It was easy to reach the fruit.

“Let’s have a race,” Veve proposed. “I can pick more cherries than you, Connie!”

Both girls stripped as fast as they could. But try as they would, they could not make the fruit fall into the pail as fast as Mr. Hooper had done.

When Connie’s bucket was half filled, she began to feel a little tired.

“It’s getting late,” she remarked uneasily. “I wish Mr. Hooper would come back.”

The girls had seen one Rosedale bus pass the orchard, and they knew another soon would be due.

Unless they started for home very shortly they were afraid their parents would worry.

“Oh, here comes Mr. Hooper now,” Veve announced a little later. She felt very much relieved.

“We’ve picked a lot of cherries,” Connie said proudly. “Do you suppose he’ll think we have done all right?”

Veve nodded and stretched her cramped arms.

For a moment she stood quite still on the fifth step of the ladder. From her perch, she could gaze directly across the roadway into the Wingate orchard.

Apparently, something the little girl saw there startled her.

At any rate, she twisted around to obtain a better view.

Now in doing so, Veve’s right arm came sharply against the half-filled pail of cherries. It teetered and started to fall.

Frantically, the little girl clutched to save the bucket.

But her hand missed. Down clattered the tin pail, spilling cherries in every direction!

Nor was that the extent of the disaster. In working convulsively to save the precious fruit, Veve had thrown the ladder off balance.

For a moment it wobbled and swayed.

Then, as she uttered a wild yell, it slipped sideways, hurling her to the ground.

CHAPTER 3
Over the Fence

“ARE you hurt, Veve?”

Connie scrambled down from her own ladder to help her little friend up from the ground.

Veve brushed dirt from her Brownie uniform and picked up the beanie which had fallen from her head. Ruefully she gazed at the spilled cherries. Scarcely a handful remained in the tin bucket.

“Oh, I’m all right,” she muttered, rubbing an elbow. “But see what happened! Now Mr. Hooper won’t want the Brownies to pick in his orchard.”

Even as she spoke, the orchard owner hurried up, Cap barking at his heels.

From a distance, he had seen Veve tumble from the ladder. He was afraid she might have been injured.

“Didn’t I warn you to be careful?” he asked a trifle crossly. “If you had broken an arm—”

“You don’t have to be liable for my fall,” Veve assured him. “I’m not hurt a bit.”

Hurriedly she began to pick up the scattered cherries.

“We tried so hard,” Connie said. She felt quite crushed by the disaster. “I—I guess we aren’t very good pickers.”

Pa Hooper patted her shoulder. “You’ve done well for the first time,” he said, peering into her pail. “It was just an accident. They will happen sometimes, despite precautions.”

“Then you think we’re good enough to get the job for the Brownies?” Veve demanded. Pa Hooper’s words had revived her hope.

Before the orchard owner could reply, Cap gave a little yip to attract attention. Then he sat up and begged, waving his two front paws.

Veve and Connie had to laugh. Cap looked very cute, and seemed to be coaxing his master into saying that the girls might have the cherry picking job.

“So you think I should, eh, Cap?” chuckled Pa Hooper. “That does it, old boy. We’ll hire the Brownies! The entire troop!”

“Whoopee!” shouted Veve. She capered around so madly she nearly upset Connie’s pail of cherries.

“Careful now,” warned Pa Hooper, rather sternly. “Cherry picking is serious business. If you work here you’ll have to obey orders and not act the fool. Furthermore, you’ll have to use the short ladders. I can’t risk having you fall from the top of a tree.”

“We’ll do exactly as you say,” Veve promised. Because she couldn’t curb her high spirits, she broke into a snatch of a Brownie song:

“We snip and paste and hammer too,

To aid folks young and old.

And after all our work and play,

A story we will tell.

Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!

The Brownies are with you to stay!”

“I hope the Brownies do stay and prove to be good pickers,” Mr. Hooper said, sighing. “I’ve had plenty of trouble with the crop this season.”

“What sort of trouble, Mr. Hooper?” inquired Connie.

“Well, as I said, the larger orchard owners have hired nearly all of the professional pickers. I’m supposed to have a crew coming in tomorrow, but they may fail me. And my fruit is ripening fast.”

Mr. Hooper gazed thoughtfully up into a cherry tree as he spoke. The fruit nearly all was bright red and so plump it looked as if it might burst.

The orchard owner took Connie’s pail of cherries to the shed for weighing.

“You’ve picked four pounds,” he said. “That’s six cents. After you’ve practiced awhile, you’ll find you can strip the trees three times as fast.”

Pa Hooper told the girls that a professional picker usually made from six to ten dollars a day. The Brownies, of course, never could hope to earn that much.

Instead of paying Connie for the cherries she had picked, Mr. Hooper wrote her name on a card and the amount that was due.

“This is your account,” he said. “If you’re a good picker and stick to it, the sum should grow and grow like Jack’s beanstalk.”

Then and there, both Connie and Veve made up their minds to be the fastest pickers in the Rosedale Brownie troop. They scarcely could wait to return home to relate their good news!

“Be at the orchard early in the morning if you want to get a good start,” Mr. Hooper urged. “At least by seven o’clock.”

Now, as a rule, Connie and Veve scarcely had their breakfasts by that hour. You may be sure, though, that they didn’t tell the orchard owner. Instead, they merely nodded and promised to be on hand.

The girls felt quite happy as they trudged to the bus stop. Their arms ached from such fast picking, and Veve had several cherry juice stains on her pinchecked dress. But they were pleased to have obtained a promise of work.

“We should make a lot of money for the troop,” Veve declared as they waited for their bus.

“What if Miss Gordon shouldn’t let us pick?” Connie asked anxiously. “After all, she only told us to find out about the job. Not to take it.”

“And it will be hard getting the Brownies to the orchard by seven o’clock,” Veve added.

“Mr. Hooper really needs our help though. If he doesn’t get pickers soon, his crop will be lost. When the Brownies hear about that, I’m sure they’ll want to pitch in.”

“Sure, they will,” Veve agreed confidently. “If they don’t, we’ll make ’em!”

The arrival of a city-bound bus brought the talk to an end. During the ride into Rosedale, Veve had little to say. After awhile, Connie noticed her companion’s unusual silence.

“What’s the matter with you anyhow, Veve?” she demanded. “Tired?”

“Not very.”

“Then what is wrong?”

“Nothing,” Veve said in a tone which meant just the opposite.

“Aren’t you glad we got the job?”

“Of course! Only—”

“Only what, Veve?”

“Well, I was wondering if Mr. Hooper will treat the Brownies right.”

“Treat them right?” Connie couldn’t understand what Veve meant. “Why, he agreed to pay a cent and a half a pound. That must be a fair price, even if some of the larger orchards pay two cents.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean money, Connie. I was wondering if Mr. Hooper will beat the Brownies if they make mistakes.”

“Beat them! Whoever heard of such a thing! He wouldn’t dare!”

“Well, he might.”

Connie stared at her little friend, who now was etching a face on the dusty bus window.

“What ails you, Veve?” she asked. “Didn’t you like Mr. Hooper?”

“’Course, I did.”

“Then what put such a thought into your head? He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“Maybe not,” Veve admitted, “but some of the orchard owners beat their pickers.”

Connie had become a bit annoyed. She was quite certain Veve had no reason for making such remarks.

“How do you know?” she demanded.

“Because I saw it.”

“You saw it?” Connie echoed in disbelief. “Well, I didn’t. And I’ve been with you every minute this afternoon.”

Veve smoothed wrinkles from her skirt. “I saw it from the tree,” she revealed. “That was what made me fall. I was so startled.”

“You must have been looking over into Carl Wingate’s orchard. What did you see, Veve?”

“Mr. Wingate struck Juan with a stick, Connie. I saw it plainly. He hit him hard too.”

The information worried Connie, even though she knew the Brownies never would pick cherries in the Wingate orchard.

“Mr. Wingate is a cruel man,” she declared. “I’m surprised that the Mexicans pick for him even if he does pay two cents a pound instead of only a cent and a half.”

“You see now why I fell out of the tree,” Veve defended herself. “I wasn’t awkward. You’d have tumbled too if you’d seen what I did!”

Connie told her little friend that she thought it would be wise not to alarm the Brownies by repeating the story. If they heard about Juan being whipped, they might refuse to pick for Pa Hooper.

“And he isn’t in the least like Carl Wingate,” she declared.

The bus now had reached a familiar street. Veve and Connie alighted to walk to their homes. However, because they were in such haste to tell Miss Gordon the good news, they stopped at a drugstore to telephone her.

Pa Hooper’s offer surprised the Brownie leader very much. At first, she hesitated and declared she hardly knew what to say about the girls taking on the picking job.

“Mr. Hooper really needs our help,” Veve urged. “And think how much money we will make for the troop.”

Finally, the Brownie leader gave her consent. She said she would telephone each girl personally. If parents were willing, the troop would meet at Miss Gordon’s home the next morning at six-thirty sharp. From there they would drive in the Brownie leader’s car to the cherry orchard.

“Be sure to wear old clothing,” she warned Veve and Connie. “Cherry picking could be very hard on Brownie uniforms.”

The two girls were jubilant as they hung up the receiver. If Miss Gordon called the other Brownies, the cherry picking job was assured!

“We’ll have a lot of fun at Mr. Hooper’s orchard,” Connie declared gaily. “I like him so much.”

“He’s a queer one though.”

“Queer?” Connie considered Veve’s remark most strange.

“He must be a hermit or a miser or something, living all alone at the orchard.”

“How do you know he does, Veve?”

“He sleeps in the packing shed.” Veve was proud that she had made the observation. “I saw his cot in one corner of the room. He had an electric plate too where he cooks his food.”

“Well, I suppose he has to stay there, because he has no house.”

“That’s another strange thing, Connie. His home must have burned down a long time ago. Why didn’t he rebuild it?”

“Maybe he didn’t have the money. Or perhaps he just didn’t want to.”

Veve had been reading mystery books and considered Connie’s explanation entirely too matter-of-fact.

“That isn’t it at all,” she insisted. “Mr. Hooper must have a special reason for not rebuilding his house. While we’re picking cherries at his orchard, I intend to learn all about it!”

CHAPTER 4
“Tail-ender”

AT six-thirty the next morning, six sleepy-eyed Brownies were at Miss Gordon’s home, ready to drive to the cherry orchard.

Eileen was the last to arrive. Usually she did not arise until eight o’clock and so felt a little cross.

“I don’t see why we have to get up so early,” she grumbled.

All the girls wore blue jeans instead of dresses, for Miss Gordon had warned them that frocks might be ruined by fruit stains. The Brownie leader had packed enough lunch for everyone, and had filled a thermos jug with hot chocolate.

“All aboard for Pa Hooper’s orchard!” she called, herding the girls into her car. “Time to get started if we’re to arrive there by seven o’clock.”

During the ride to the orchard, the Brownies asked Veve and Connie dozens of questions about the work they were to do. Everyone except Eileen thought it would be great fun.

When Miss Gordon was less than a half mile from Pa Hooper’s place, her car was passed by a truck. Mexican workers were leaning over the high sideboards. Seeing the Brownies, they laughed and shouted, and waved their hands.

“They must be pickers for the Wingate place,” Connie declared. She had glimpsed Juan, the little Mexican boy, among the group.

A few minutes later, the Brownies saw the truck turn in at the orchard.

Miss Gordon drove her own car into Pa Hooper’s place. As the girls tumbled out, they noticed only a few persons picking cherries some distance from the packing shed.

“Well, you did come after all!” Pa Hooper exclaimed, walking over to the group. “I need pickers. Ready to start in?”

“Oh, yes!” Veve agreed. “We want to earn a lot of money.”

The orchard owner laughed and said that would depend entirely upon how steadily the girls kept at their picking.

“It’s easy the first hour,” he declared. “After that—well, we’ll see how you hold up.”

Then and there the Brownies made up their minds that even though the job was hard, they would not give up!

Mr. Hooper led the girls to a group of nearby trees. Each Brownie received a pail and was shown exactly how to strip a branch.

“Pick clean and don’t bruise the fruit,” he instructed. “When your pail is filled, weigh in at the shed.”

The orchard owner told the girls to strip only the lower tree branches. He said he could not risk having them fall from the stepladders, and so would leave the higher picking for older persons.

After Mr. Hooper had gone to the shed, the Brownies fell to work with a will. At first the cherries thudded into the tin pails, making a tinkling sound. Soon the bottoms of the buckets were covered.

“I have almost two inches of cherries in my pail!” Rosemary called after a few minutes.

“Oh, I’m ahead of you,” laughed Jane, who was picking in the next tree.

Hearing the report, Veve began to strip at a faster rate, for she was far behind. She had stopped too often to sample a cherry and to look around.

Seeing a clump of especially large cherries directly overhead, the little girl reached for them. Her hand touched something which was dark-green in color and very slimy.

With a squeal of dismay, Veve pulled back. The pail of cherries nearly dropped from her hand. But she managed to save it.

“O-oh, see this horrid creature on the tree!” she exclaimed. “Ugh! It gives me the creeps.”

The other Brownies and Miss Gordon, who were picking close by, came over to look.

“Why, it’s only a harmless little slug,” the Brownie Scout leader laughed. “One frequently finds them amid the foliage.”

Miss Gordon plucked the leaf which the creature had been eating. Half of the soft leaf tissue had been nibbled away, leaving ribs and veins exposed.

“Orchard owners control slugs by spraying with arsenate of lead,” she told the girls. “Somehow, this fellow escaped.”

“I don’t want to pick on this tree any more,” Veve said.

“’Fraid cat!” teased Sunny Davidson.

“I am not!” Veve denied. “I just don’t like slugs.”

The other girls laughed and told her she would have to stick to her own tree.

Veve went back to work but she kept looking at the foliage before she touched it. She did not see another slug.

When Mr. Hooper presently came to the orchard to see how the Brownies were doing, Veve remarked that she thought the trees needed spraying.

“Why, bless you!” the orchard owner chuckled. “Already they’ve been sprayed four times. I put on one early in the season to control scale insects. Then I sprayed a second time just before the blossoms opened up. Since then the trees have had two extra treatments.”

Veve was amazed that so much work was required to keep the orchard in good condition.

“It’s a never-ending battle,” Mr. Hooper sighed. “One has to fight leaf spot, brown rot and the fruit fly, to mention only a few troubles.”

After the orchard owner had returned to the shed, the Brownies picked steadily for a while.

Then Rosemary shouted that her pail was filled. She was far ahead of the other girls.

“My bucket is full too,” announced Miss Gordon. “Come, Rosemary, shall we be the first to weigh in?”

Everyone began to pick very fast, not wanting to be a tail-ender.

Soon Connie was ready to have her fruit weighed. Jane’s pail next was filled. Both girls were proud to have done so well.

After that, Eileen and Sunny finished their picking in rapid order.

“Veve’s the tail-ender!” teased Jane. She whirled around fast and her jeans caught on a strand of wire attached to the fence.

As the little girl pulled away, she heard a tearing sound. A long jagged hole had been torn in the leg of her almost-new jeans.

“Oh, now see what I’ve done!” she exclaimed. “My knee shows right through!”

“That comes from picking so fast,” declared Veve. Actually, Jane had not been stripping the tree at the moment of the accident.

Near tears, Jane hastened to the shed to show Miss Gordon the torn place. Veve followed her, although her pail was not quite filled.

In the shed, Pa Hooper had just finished weighing in the cherries and noting down the amount on cards.

When he saw Veve’s pail, he shook his head. “Only three-quarters filled?” he asked. “Now, it’s a waste of time to weigh in less than a full pail.”

“Mine will be full next time,” Veve assured him. She really meant it too.

Miss Gordon told Jane she would sew up the tear in the jeans during the lunch hour.

“I have a sewing kit in my car,” she said. “Also a first aid kit. But I hope and trust we’ll not need the latter.”

“Will it soon be lunch time?” Rosemary asked. Already she was growing hungry.

“Why, we’ve scarcely started to pick,” laughed Miss Gordon.

After Pa Hooper had weighed all the fruit, the Brownies returned to their posts. Soon their arms began to ache from reaching up into the branches. And as the sun rose higher and higher, they became very warm.

However, the Brownies were good sports and not afraid of hard work. No one wanted to be the first to complain or quit, so they all kept on. But everyone, even Miss Gordon, picked at a slower pace.

Veve became very thirsty. Now and then she would eat a cherry or two.

“No wonder you can’t keep up with the rest of us,” Connie scolded her. “You stop so often to eat.”

Veve knew she deserved the lecture, for she found it hard to keep her mind on work. She liked to watch the other pickers and to glance now and then over into the Wingate orchard to see what was going on there.

By eleven-thirty the Brownies were so hungry they declared they were nearly famished. They were certain they could not wait another minute for lunch.

“We’ll weigh in and open up the hamper,” Miss Gordon decided. “My! I wonder if I packed enough lunch?”

All of the Brownies except Veve quickly went to the shed to have their cherries weighed.

“Coming, Veve?” asked Miss Gordon.

“In a minute,” the little girl answered. She did not have many cherries in her pail and was ashamed to have either the Brownies or Mr. Hooper see how poorly she had done.

While the others were in the shed, Veve picked as fast as she could. Even so, her bucket was not half filled.

She was still working when the girls trooped out of the shed again.

“Do come along, Veve!” Miss Gordon called. “We’re having our lunch now.”

Veve climbed down from the stepladder and walked slowly toward the shed. The Brownies already were at the car, removing the lunch hamper and thermos jug. They planned to eat under a shady oak in the front yard.

“Hurry up, slow-poke!” Jane shouted. “You won’t get anything to eat if you don’t.”

Without going to the shed, Veve covered her pail with a handkerchief, and joined her friends.

“Haven’t you weighed in your cherries?” Connie asked her as she helped to spread a tablecloth under the oak tree.

“I’ll do it later,” Veve mumbled. She knew Pa Hooper would not accept a half bucket of cherries. He had told her twice to fill the container to the brim before bringing it in.

“It doesn’t matter how many cherries anyone picked,” said Miss Gordon quickly. “The important thing is we’re doing useful work and earning money for our troop.”

“How much have we earned already?” Eileen asked eagerly.

Miss Gordon said she had not kept accurate account, but she was certain it amounted to several dollars.

The morning work had made the girls very hungry. Although the Brownie leader had prepared two sandwiches for each person, it did not seem enough. Veve bolted hers in a twinkling and so did Sunny. The chocolate disappeared equally fast.

“Oh, dear, I’m still hungry,” moaned Sunny. “I could eat anything—anything, that is, except cherries.”

Her remark made Veve think of a little joke. “What’s worse than biting into a worm?” she asked the Brownies.

“What could be worse?” demanded Connie.

“Biting into half a worm!”

The Brownies did not laugh very hard at Veve’s joke. During the morning picking, nearly everyone had bitten into at least one worm. It had not been a pleasant experience.

“I’m so hungry, I could even go for a worm,” added Veve, just to make the girls shudder. “Say, whose car is that?”

She had noticed a familiar blue sedan turning into the driveway.

“Why, that’s our car!” cried Connie, leaping to her feet. “It’s Mother!”

Now the Brownies were very surprised and pleased to see Mrs. Williams. Eagerly, they swarmed about the car.

“Having fun?” Connie’s mother asked.

“Oh, yes!” the girls told her. They really were, too.

Connie had spied two large covered baskets on the back seat of the automobile.

“What are in these?” she demanded.

“Oh, those!” smiled her mother. “I thought the girls might want a little more lunch. I baked a cake and made potato salad. But if you’ve already had too much, I can take them home.”

The Brownies all hooted in protest at such a proposal.

“You leave those baskets right here!” laughed Connie.

“I should say so!” echoed Eileen.

“I could eat an entire cake myself,” added Jane.

The Brownies carried the baskets to the big oak tree. There, upon the tablecloth, they spread out an array of delicious looking food.

Besides cake and salad, Mrs. Williams also had brought cheese and pickles.

Veve helped herself to a large piece of cake.

“I’m thirsty,” she announced when she had finished the last crumb.

The thermos bottles were empty. Veve thought she would try to find a pump.

“There’s one back of the shed,” Miss Gordon told her. “The water, though, tastes of mineral. You’ll find better water at the spring.”

“And where is that, Miss Gordon?”

“Only fifty feet from the entrance gate. Just follow the road.” The Brownie leader pointed out the direction.

Not wishing the other girls to see the contents of her cherry pail, Veve carried it with her.

After she had trudged a short distance along the dusty road, she found the spring. A cool stream of water flowed out of a small pipe.

But someone was there ahead of Veve.

She saw at once that it was Juan, the little Mexican boy.

He had been washing his hands under the stream of water piped from the hillside. One of them seemed to be scratched, for it was bleeding.

“Why, what’s the matter?” Veve asked anxiously.

Juan glanced up and grinned, his lips parting to show a double row of even, white teeth.

“Nothing, Senorita,” he replied. His tone was most polite.

Veve felt quite grownup to be called a senorita, which she knew was a Mexican word for “Miss.” It worried her, though, to see that Juan’s hand had been deeply scratched and bruised.

“How did you hurt your hand?” she asked.

“Wingate.” Juan answered briefly.

Veve was horrified. “You mean he cut you?” she gasped.

“No, Senorita. He shoved me and I stumbled into the wire fence.”

“Oh, Juan! How could he be so mean?”

The Mexican boy shrugged his thin shoulders. “Wingate has an evil temper. He treats all of his pickers mean—but he hates me worse than the others. Often he beats me.”

“I know! I saw him strike you with a stick only yesterday. Why do you work for him?”

“The pickers have a contract,” Juan explained. But he added darkly, “We may break it. Si! If we leave before the fruit is harvested, then he will be sorry!”

“I should think so,” agreed Veve soberly. “Juan, wait here! I am going to get Miss Gordon’s first aid kit and wrap up your hand.”

She ran to the car for the materials she needed—cotton, gauze, iodine and tape. Returning to the spring, she dressed the cut as Miss Gordon had shown the Brownies how to do, and taped on the bandage.

The finished job did not look too neat, but Juan said it was fine and made his hand feel better. He seemed very grateful.

“How do you like stripping cherries?” he inquired. “Does the orchard owner beat you if you damage the fruit?”

“Oh, no! Mr. Hooper is very nice. All the Brownies like him.”

Juan had glanced at Veve’s nearly empty pail. “How many pounds a day can you pick?” he asked.

“I’ve filled my bucket almost three times this morning.”

Juan did not say anything, but from the way he smiled, Veve knew he did not think she had picked very many cherries.

“Here,” he said, a moment later.

Before Veve could prevent it, he picked up his own filled bucket and dumped cherries into hers until it was ready to overflow.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have done that!” she exclaimed. “Mr Wingate won’t like it.”

“Who cares for that old goat?” scoffed Juan. “He has no friends. Hooper, his own relative, dislikes him—and for good reason too. Si!”

“Are Hooper and Wingate relatives?” Veve asked in astonishment.

Before Juan could answer, he heard his name angrily called. Mr. Wingate stood at the entrance to the orchard, gazing toward the spring.

“You, Juan!” he shouted. “Stop loafing, and get back to work!”

“Si, Senor,” the little Mexican boy muttered. Picking up his nearly empty pail, he smiled again at Veve, and ambled up the road.

Back at the Hooper orchard, the Brownies had finished their lunch and were ready to resume their picking.

“Where’s Veve?” Jane demanded impatiently. “She’s always late. She hasn’t even weighed in her last picking.”

“That’s because she didn’t have enough cherries to turn in,” said Eileen.

Veve came up to the oak tree just in time to hear the last remark.

“Who says I haven’t any cherries?” she demanded, offering her pail in proof. “Full to the brim!”

The Brownies were amazed. They had been so certain that Veve’s bucket was nearly empty.

“How did you get so many cherries so quickly?”

Connie asked suspiciously. “When I last saw your pail—”

“Oh, I’m a fast picker,” laughed Veve. Then, because she knew a Brownie had to be honest, she added: “Well, maybe I had some help!”

The girls plied her with questions. Finally, after she had tantalized them, Veve told about her meeting with the Mexican boy.

“One can’t blame the Mexican pickers for thinking of leaving if they are mistreated,” remarked Miss Gordon when she heard Juan’s conversation repeated. “However, I hope they don’t. If the pickers should go away from the area before the fruit is marketed, it would be most serious for all of the orchard owners.”

The Brownies now were well fed, rested, and ready to return to their work. Connie’s mother was sorry she had not worn old clothes so that she too might help.

“Perhaps I’ll come again tomorrow,” she declared. “That is, if it doesn’t rain.”

The sky had become slightly overcast. Although it did not look as if it would rain very soon, a storm appeared in the offing.

While the other Brownies returned to their trees, Veve went to the shed to have her cherries weighed.

“You did very well,” Pa Hooper praised as he marked the poundage on her card. “Guess you’re finally getting the trick of it.”

Veve flushed and decided then and there that during the afternoon she would keep her mind on her work.

“Oh, Mr. Hooper,” she said suddenly. “Is Carl Wingate any relation to you?”

The orchard owner nearly dropped the lug of fruit he was carrying out to load into a truck.

“What made you ask that?” he demanded. He did not seem very pleased by the question.

“I just wondered.”

“Someone put you up to it! Carl Wingate is my cousin. Now get back to your picking and don’t be pestering me with questions.”

Pa Hooper spoke almost crossly. Veve could not understand why her question had annoyed him. She remembered though, that Juan had said something about the orchard owner disliking Carl Wingate.

She meant to learn more about it before the Brownies were through with the cherry picking. However, she would have to bide her time. Pa Hooper, she could plainly see, had no intention of revealing any secrets.

CHAPTER 5
The Brownies Lend a Hand

VEVE awoke the next morning to the sound of rain on the roof. For a moment she lay quite still, wondering if it were time to get up.

“Oh, dear!” the little girl thought. “This means there will be no cherry picking today.”

Veve was not too disappointed, however. For when she rolled over in bed, her shoulders ached and so did the muscles of her legs. She felt as if she could sleep a thousand years.

Just then, her mother called from downstairs: “Time to get up, Veve! It’s after nine o’clock!”

Nine o’clock! When Veve heard that, she rolled out of bed and began to dress. She had not dreamed it could be so late for it looked dark outside. Half the morning already was gone!

Mrs. McGuire had breakfast waiting when the little girl came downstairs. She had set out Veve’s favorite cereal, and had cooked tiny sausages.

“U-um, u-um,” Veve declared, smacking her lips. “I’m as hungry as a bear! Cherry picking certainly makes one hungry.”

Mrs. McGuire set a tall glass of milk in front of her daughter’s plate. “I let you sleep late because I knew you were tired,” she said. “There will be no cherry picking today. Miss Gordon called a few minutes ago, to say the Brownies are having a meeting though.”

“Where?” Veve demanded between bites of sausage.

“At Miss Gordon’s home. You’re to work on the quilt again.”

Veve made a grimace which showed exactly how she felt about sewing.

“The meeting starts at one,” her mother informed her.

Veve would have liked to be a little late to cut down her sewing time. She already had one demerit for tardiness, however, and could not risk another. So she decided she would be on time.

After lunch, she changed into her Brownie uniform and went to Miss Gordon’s home. All the girls were disappointed by the rain. But they agreed it was a fine time to finish the crazy quilt.

“If we each sew three blocks, it will be finished,” Miss Gordon declared. “Then I’ll put it on the frames and quilt it for you.”

“When will we have the quilt sale?” Connie asked.

Miss Gordon said she thought the auction and show possibly might be held within a week or ten days.

“It all depends upon when we have our quilts ready to exhibit,” she added. “Let’s have a report now. How many have arranged to have at least one quilt entered in the display?”

Connie quickly announced that she would have two exhibits, the Sawtooth quilt and a woven Washington coverlet.

Rosemary next made her report. She said she had been promised an Evening Star pattern. Eileen was sure she would have one in the Pine Tree design. Sunny’s aunt had given her a very old one, made entirely of little scraps of velvet and silk.

As for Jane and Veve, they both told Miss Gordon they surely would find quilts to enter in the show. Actually, they were a trifle worried, for the time was short.

When four o’clock came, the girls finished the last quilt block, and put away their sewing. They were very tired. But they were happy and proud too, for the crazy quilt now was ready for the frames.

“I’ll stitch in our Rosedale Brownie Troop name,” Miss Gordon promised the girls. “You’ve done quite enough as it is.”

Ice cream and cake were served. Then the girls sang a Brownie song and ended the meeting by repeating the Brownie Scout Promise:

“I promise to do my best to love God and my country, to help other people every day, especially those at home.”

The girls stood at attention as they spoke the words, saluting smartly at the end.

After the dishes had been cleared away, it was time to leave.

Arm in arm, the Brownies ambled down the street. The rain had ceased, and the clouds were drifting fast as if they might clear away.

“I hope it’s nice weather tomorrow,” Connie said. “I want to pick cherries again.”

At the next corner, the girls began to separate to go to their homes. Veve walked with Connie for most of the distance to their street. Then abruptly, she announced that she had to go the other way.

“Why, you don’t live down that street,” Connie protested. “What are you up to anyhow?”

Veve would not say. Nor would she agree to allow her friend to accompany her.

“You’ll hear all about it at the next Brownie meeting,” she laughed. “That is, if I have luck.”

Now Veve had made up her mind to get busy and find a quilt for the show. She had recalled that a lady who lived on White St. had a beautiful one with dogwood flowers across its face. She meant to ask her for permission to display it in the exhibit.

“See you later!” she dismissed Connie.

Now Veve knew that the owner of the dogwood quilt was Miss Adelia Brimborough. She had never talked to her, however.

Therefore, the little girl was completely taken by surprise when a tall, prim lady answered her rap on the door.

Just by looking at her, Veve guessed that she did not like children.

“Well?” inquired Miss Brimborough. Her tone implied that she was in a great hurry.

Veve started to explain about the Brownie organization and the coming quilt show.

Miss Brimborough scarcely listened. When Veve asked her rather timidly if she would allow her dogwood quilt to be shown by the Brownies, her answer was firm.

“My dear, I am so sorry. I should like to help your fine organization—indeed, yes. But you may not know that my dogwood blossom quilt won second prize in the county fair last year.”

“That’s why we would like to exhibit it,” Veve said quickly.

“My dear, I couldn’t risk entering such a valuable quilt in a Brownie show. It might be damaged, you see. Children are so careless.”

“Brownies aren’t,” Veve insisted. “We’re taught to be responsible and to take care of things. If you’ll let me have the quilt I’ll promise—”

“Now please don’t tease,” the lady cut her short. “I am sorry, but I can’t let you have the quilt.”

Veve was tempted to make an unkind reply. She wanted to tell Miss Brimborough that she was mean and selfish.

Just in time, though, she remembered that Miss Gordon had said a Brownie must always be courteous even though others might be rude.

Miss Brimborough hadn’t been exactly rude. She merely had been very firm.

With as much dignity as she could muster, Veve said good-bye. She felt bitterly disappointed by the refusal.

Where in the world now would she find a quilt for the show? In all Rosedale she did not know of another person who had a pretty one.

Twenty minutes later, when Veve reached home, her mother had arrived from the office.

“Mom, do you know of anyone who might have a quilt for our Brownie show?” the little girl asked.

Mrs. McGuire, who was making out the grocery list, did not give the question very much thought. “Why, no, dear,” she answered absently. “Must you have one soon?”

“Right away.”

“We’ll try to think of someone who has a nice quilt,” her mother said. “Just now I’m so busy—”

The telephone had started to ring. Mrs. McGuire asked Veve if she would answer it.

Taking down the receiver, the little girl was surprised to hear Miss Gordon’s voice.

“Veve,” the Brownie leader said. “I’ve just received a call from Mr. Hooper. He needs our help.”

“At the cherry orchard, you mean?” gasped Veve. She knew Miss Gordon would not have telephoned if the matter were not of utmost importance.

“Yes, this rain has made the cherries ripen very rapidly. Mr. Hooper is afraid he will lose much of his crop if he doesn’t get pickers right away.”

“Does he want the Brownies to come out there now, Miss Gordon?”

“Not tonight. But he has asked us to report the first thing in the morning. Can we count on you, Veve?”

“Oh, yes!”

“Good!” Miss Gordon approved. “I’m calling all the other girls. We’re to meet at my home at six-thirty sharp.”

“I’ll be there,” Veve promised.

“Oh, yes, another thing. Mr. Hooper wants us to bring any other pickers we can find. I thought possibly we might induce some of the mothers to go with us.”

“That would be fun! And we’d make a lot more money for the organization!”

“We certainly would,” laughed Miss Gordon. “The important thing though is that we have a chance to help Mr. Hooper save his crop. It seems he can’t have his turn at the professional pickers for several more days. By that time he’s afraid his crop will spoil.”

“I’ll ask my mother to go,” Veve promised.

Mrs. McGuire worked nearly every day at a downtown office. It so happened, however, that she was entitled to a little time off.

“I’ll be glad to accompany the Brownies to the orchard,” she assured her daughter. “Until now I’ve had little chance to help the organization. This will give me a splendid opportunity.”

All of the other mothers felt exactly the same way.

So the next morning, six Brownies and six mothers gathered early at Miss Gordon’s home.

“Thirteen of us,” the Brownie leader declared, counting noses. “Dear me, I hope that’s not unlucky.”

“It will be a lucky number for our Brownie troop!” laughed Connie. “Think how many pounds of cherries we’ll pick today.”

Everyone was in high spirits. The sun shone brightly and the day gave promise of being pleasant. With the mothers going along, the cherry picking would become a real outing.

Six heavily laden lunch hampers already had been loaded into the cars.

Veve spied Miss Gordon putting in another large, squarish package which did not look as if it contained anything to eat.

“What’s in that one?” the little girl asked curiously.

Miss Gordon only smiled.

“Surprise,” she hinted mysteriously. “Wait until lunch time. Then you’ll see!”

CHAPTER 6
A Missing Coverlet

VEVE was happy as a lark, humming a Brownie song as she stripped cherries into her pail. Now that she had learned the trick of pulling the fruit from the trees, it was much easier for her to keep up with the other pickers.

Furthermore, she had a secret! In fact, two of them.

“What makes you so chirpy this morning?” demanded Connie, who was picking in the next tree.

“Oh, I’m just feeling top-notch!” laughed Veve. “Thinking of that good lunch we’ll soon be eating!”

“That’s not entirely the reason,” insisted Connie. “You’ve been pepped up ever since we drove out here this morning. In fact—you acted as if you saw something on the way that gave you a big lift.”

“Maybe I did.”

“Well, I didn’t see anything different than usual.”

“Then you couldn’t have looked where I did,” Veve teased. “I saw it right close to Pa Hooper’s farm—at the first one down the road.”

“Carl Wingate’s place?”

“Goodness, no. I mean the house on this side of the road.”

“Well, I didn’t see anything,” Connie declared. She brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “Stop teasing me, Veve! What did you notice?”

“A quilt hanging on the line!” Veve announced, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, it was a beauty, Connie! Even from the road I could see that the pattern was unusual—all stars and wheels in blue and white.”

“I must have been looking the other direction. I didn’t see it.”

“None of the Brownies did. It was flapping there on the clothesline as much as to say, ‘Come and get me, Veve!’ That’s what I intend to do! At lunch time, I’m going to slip over to that house and ask the lady if she’ll let me have the quilt for our show.”

In her enthusiasm, Veve did not realize that she was talking in a loud, shrill voice. Jane Tuttle, who was working in the next tree, heard the conversation. She became so interested that for a minute or two she forgot to pick cherries.

“I guess I won’t be a tail-ender after all!” Veve declared in satisfaction. “I’ll beat Jane!”

The little girl said no more about the quilt. However, when at last Miss Gordon signaled the Brownies that it was time to knock off for luncheon, she was off her ladder in a flash.

“See you later!” she called to Connie. “Save me some lunch, if I’m late.”

Miss Gordon was directing the girls and their mothers to the big oak where lunch was to be served. In counting noses, she failed to see Jane Tuttle.

“Why, I wonder where she is?” she inquired aloud. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her around for the last fifteen or twenty minutes.”

“Jane went to the shed awhile ago to weigh in her fruit,” Sunny informed. “I never saw her come back though.”

At that very moment, one of the girls sighted the missing Brownie. She came walking jauntily through the gate, pigtails swinging. Her shoes were quite dusty, an indication that she had tramped along the road.

“Oh, girls! Guess what?” she greeted the Brownies. Jane looked directly at Veve as she spoke.

“Where have you been?” Veve demanded suspiciously.

Jane laughed. “Off looking for a quilt!” she informed saucily. “Found one too!”

“You found a quilt for the Brownie show?” Veve asked in a weak voice.

“At the farm next to this one! Oh, it’s a dandy! Blue and white. It’s called the Ship’s Wheel pattern. The lady who owns it says she’ll be glad to let me have it for the display.”

“She’ll let you have it!” Veve cried. “But that was my quilt!”

“It wasn’t yours until you had it promised,” chuckled Jane. “The early bird catches the worm, you know! You’re a pretty late bird, Veve.”

“You heard me tell Connie about the quilt!” Veve accused. “Then you sneaked off before I had a chance and asked for it.”

“So what?” laughed Jane. “You can get another quilt. Only of course, this makes you the tail-ender!”

Miss Gordon, who had heard the girls arguing, came over to ask what was wrong. Veve told her what had happened.

“Why, Jane,” the Brownie leader said in surprise. “I didn’t think you would do a thing like that. It doesn’t seem quite honest or fair.”

“I only wanted to get ahead of Veve,” Jane said, now feeling ashamed of herself. “Oh, well! I’ll give her the old quilt.”

Veve, however, was too proud to accept it.

“No, thank you,” she said. “I will find another one—a much nicer pattern.”

The other Brownies did not tease Veve about being a ‘tail-ender.’ In fact, they very carefully avoided talking about the Ship’s Wheel quilt. Jane knew that the girls felt she had been unfair in taking Veve’s quilt. She was sorry now that she had done it, but she did not know how to make amends.

The girls and their mothers ate lunch under the oak tree. While they rested, Miss Gordon brought out the mysterious package Veve had seen her slip into the car that morning.

“Here’s the surprise,” the Brownie leader announced. “Our quilt—entirely finished!”

As the teacher carefully spread the quilted coverlet on the grass the girls exclaimed in delight.

The quilt might be “crazy” in pattern, but never had they seen such a splash of gay colors! Blue, gold, red, green, yellow and every hue of the rainbow.

Altogether, the quilt was so beautiful that the girls disliked the thought of selling it. Of course they would, however, for the organization needed money.

“How did you finish it so quickly?” Connie inquired.

“I had many willing helpers,” Miss Gordon explained. “Last night we had a quilting bee at my home.”

“What’s a quilting bee?” questioned Sunny curiously.

“A quilting party,” Miss Gordon explained. “I invited teachers from the Rosedale School and a number of my other friends. First we tacked the quilt onto wooden frames. Then we put a backing on it and filled in a layer of cotton. Finally, we tacked it down and took it from the frames.”

“My, that must have been a lot of work!” exclaimed Rosemary. “Even more than making the quilt blocks.”

“It was,” admitted the teacher. “But finishing such a fine quilt was well worth while. Don’t you all feel that way about it?”

“Oh, yes!” agreed the Brownies.

Miss Gordon showed the girls the lower right-hand corner of the quilt. In tiny red stitches, the Rosedale Brownie Troop name had been etched in.

“Oh, I like that!” Connie cried. “Now, even though someone else buys our quilt, the Brownie name always will be on it.”

“It’s almost like having an autograph quilt,” declared Veve.

While the other girls chattered excitedly about the coming quilt show, Jane Tuttle had nothing to say.

In truth, she felt quite ashamed of the way she had acted.

“Don’t feel bad, Jane,” Veve said to cheer her. “It’s all right about the quilt. I’ll find another.”

Jane brightened at that. “I’ll help you get one, Veve,” she promised.

Then she added: “You know something? While I was at that next-door house, I learned some interesting things about Mr. Hooper.”

“You did?” Veve was eager to hear all about it.

“His house burned down nearly three years ago, the lady said. And guess why he never rebuilt it!”

“Maybe he didn’t have the money.”

“That’s not the real reason,” replied Jane. “He didn’t rebuild the house, because he’s afraid he will lose his entire orchard.”

“Lose it? How? Doesn’t he have enough money to pay the taxes?” Veve had heard her mother say that to hold property one had to pay taxes regularly.

“Oh, it isn’t that!” Jane explained impatiently. “He’s afraid he will have to turn the place over to Mr. Wingate.”

“To that old demon!”

“It’s because of a will or something,” Jane said vaguely. “The lady told me, but I didn’t pay close attention. Anyway, Pa Hooper and Mr. Wingate have had a lot of trouble. They’re cousins, but they dislike each other.”

“I can’t blame Mr. Hooper for not liking Carl Wingate,” Veve declared with feeling. “Why, it would be dreadful if he would get both orchards.”

“The quilt lady seemed to think that’s the way it will turn out. She said Pa Hooper is afraid this harvest is the last one he’ll ever get from his orchard. And he may lose most of it too!”

“Why will he lose his cherries, Jane?”

“Because the fruit is ripening so fast. He expected the Mexican pickers two days ago, but they’re still at the Wingate place. Mr. Hooper can’t get them until they’ve finished Wingate’s picking.”

“He has us.”

“But you know we’re not fast pickers, Veve. A good stripper can get almost 300 pounds a day from a tree. Mr. Hooper needs two experienced pickers to every acre. At least that’s what the quilt lady told me.”

“I wish the Mexicans would leave Mr. Wingate’s place and come here.”

“So do I, but they have to finish their contract first. Mr. Wingate has a heavy crop, and he won’t let the pickers move on until they’re completely finished.”

As the girls talked, Miss Gordon called that it was time to return to the orchard. Before leaving, she carefully folded the quilt inside out and left it lying on the grass not far from the picnic baskets.

During the afternoon, the Brownies and their mothers picked steadily.

The work seemed much easier now. Even so, everyone began to grow a little tired about four o’clock.

Mrs. Davidson had just finished filling her bucket when, without warning, the breeze began to freshen.

Two or three strong gusts swept through the orchard, blowing papers and stirring the limbs of the trees.

“Girls, better come down from your ladders,” Miss Gordon called. “It looks as if we’re in for a wind storm.”

Scarcely had the girls descended, however, than the wind died away as quickly as it had come.

“False alarm,” laughed Miss Gordon. “We may as well go back to work.”

Mrs. Davidson said it was time for her to go home and start supper. She was the first to leave, taking Sunny with her.

After that, Mrs. Williams had to go and so did Eileen’s mother. They promised, however, that if the weather remained favorable, they would return the following morning.

“Mr. Hooper really needs every picker he can get,” Miss Gordon said soberly. “He tells me his entire crop must be harvested before the end of the week. Otherwise, much of the fruit will be rejected by the cannery as over-ripe.”

One by one the mothers left the orchard, taking their daughters with them. Miss Gordon was among the last to depart.

“Girls,” she said to Veve and Rosemary, who were to ride with her, “will you bring the lunch baskets, please?”

Hand in hand, they raced to the oak tree where lunch had been served. All but two of the baskets already had been loaded into other cars.

“I’m glad there’s not much to carry,” Veve said.

She picked up one of the baskets and gave the other to Rosemary.

At the parked car, Miss Gordon shoved the hampers into the rear luggage compartment.

“There, I guess we have everything,” she declared. “My, but I am tired.”

“So am I,” yawned Veve. “After this picking job is over, I’ll go to bed and sleep a million years!”

The two girls curled up on the back seat, intending to relax during the ride into Rosedale.

A truck from the canning factory had blocked the entrance gate to Pa Hooper’s property. Not until it had moved on with its load of fruit, was Miss Gordon able to drive out into the main road.

The automobile had traveled perhaps a mile toward the city when the Brownie leader thought of an important matter.

“By the way, I don’t recall packing the Brownie crazy quilt,” she said. “Did either of you look after it?”

“Not I,” said Rosemary.

“Neither did I,” returned Veve. “I didn’t even see the quilt under the tree when we picked up the lunch baskets.”

“Maybe one of the mothers took it,” suggested Rosemary.

Miss Gordon now was rather troubled.

“I should have thought about the quilt, but it slipped my mind,” she said, slowing the car. “It may have been left under the tree. I believe we should drive back there to make certain.”

The Brownie leader turned the automobile around and returned to the Hooper orchard. This time she went with Rosemary and Veve to the oak tree where they had eaten the picnic lunch.

However, they could not find the crazy quilt.

“One of the Brownie mothers may have taken it,” Miss Gordon decided. “Oh, well, I wanted to be sure the quilt wasn’t left behind. Odd, I didn’t see anyone carry it to a car.”

En route back to Rosedale, the Brownie leader did not have a great deal to say. Veve and Rosemary could not tell whether she was uneasy about the quilt or was thinking of other matters.

Miss Gordon dropped Rosemary off at the Fritche home. Mrs. Fritche said she had not seen the crazy quilt either.

“Perhaps Mrs. Davidson has it,” she suggested. “As I recall, she was one of the first to leave.”

“I’ll telephone all the mothers,” the Brownie leader said. “Someone must have the coverlet.”

Before taking Veve home, Miss Gordon stopped at her own residence. From there she called Mrs. Davidson.

Sunny’s mother reported that she had not seen or taken the crazy quilt from beneath the tree.

In turn, Miss Gordon called all the mothers who had attended the picnic. Mrs. Williams was the last name on her list.

“Why, no,” replied Connie’s mother, in answer to the Brownie leader’s question. “I did not take the quilt. For that matter, I didn’t even notice that it was under the tree.”

Miss Gordon turned away from the telephone, very much discouraged.

“Veve,” she said, “how can I tell the Brownies? After all our work, the crazy quilt is gone! While we were so busy picking, I’m afraid someone took it!”

CHAPTER 7
Pa Hooper’s Trunk

NEXT morning at the orchard, the main topic of conversation was the loss of the crazy quilt.

Everyone agreed that Miss Gordon had left it lying under the oak tree. No one recalled seeing it after that.

“Pickers went to and from the orchard all day,” Miss Gordon declared. “Oh, dear, it was careless of me not to have locked it in the car. And to think how many long hours the Brownies spent on their beautiful blocks!”

“Maybe one of the Mexicans took it!” suggested Rosemary. “I saw that little boy they call Juan walking along the road about four o’clock.”

“Juan wouldn’t steal,” Veve said, going quickly to his defense. “He’s nice and I like him!”

“We mustn’t accuse anyone,” said Miss Gordon. “The fault was entirely my own. I’ll try somehow to make it up to the Brownies. Just at the moment, I can’t think of any way to do it. Every one of those stitches was precious.”

The Brownies felt the same way about their work. Not for anything in the world would they have sewed another quilt. They felt its loss very keenly.

“Does this mean we won’t have the quilt show or the auction?” Eileen asked.

“We can’t have the auction because we have no quilt to sell,” the teacher replied. “As for the show, I vote that we go on with it exactly as we planned.”

“So do I!” cried Connie, and all the other girls agreed.

Veve, however, was not as enthusiastic as the others, because she was afraid she never would find a quilt to display.

“I have another idea too!” Miss Gordon announced cheerfully.

The Brownies demanded to know what it was.

“Why not have a cherry festival in connection with our quilt show?” the teacher proposed. “It might help to draw a crowd and would be fun to plan.”

“Oh, that sounds exciting!” approved Connie. “How do we do it?”

Miss Gordon outlined her plans, and invited the girls to add their own suggestions. She had cut out petal patterns from which the girls could make artificial cherry blossoms to decorate booths.

“We can have paper lanterns decorated with the blossoms,” she went on. “Then you might like to select a festival queen. If so, we’ll need a throne.”

“Wouldn’t that mean a lot of work?” Eileen asked. Already she was feeling rather tired from so much cherry picking.

“The throne could be made quite easily by using a swing. The rope strands would be entwined with cherry blossoms. I think it would be nice if we had the festival out-of-doors. That is, if the weather is fair. We’ve had so much rain lately.”

One and all the Brownies liked Miss Gordon’s idea for the cherry festival. Somehow, planning for it eased the loss of their quilt.

“When will we have the festival?” Veve asked.

Miss Gordon said she thought the next week-end might be the best time. Although that did not give the Brownies very long for their preparations, they could do it if everyone worked together. And all the mothers had promised to help.

“I’ll make the posters tonight,” Miss Gordon offered. “As soon as you can, bring the promised quilts to my house.”

With the festival and quilt show almost at hand, Veve wondered what she would do for an exhibit.

Later that morning when she carried her pail of cherries to the shed for weighing, she asked Pa Hooper if he knew of anyone who might have a quilt she could borrow.

“Bless you, no,” he answered. “If my sister, Ella, were alive, she could give you a dozen of ’em. Ella made beautiful quilts.”

“Haven’t you any of them now?”

“Not a one, child. All the quilts burned when the house was destroyed. That was right after my sister died. All my papers and records were burned too. Everything I owned.”

Mr. Hooper sighed as he poured Veve’s cherries into a sorting bin.

“If everything hadn’t burned,” he hinted, “I might not find myself where I am now. I’d show that upstart, Carl Wingate, a thing or two! As it is, he holds the whip hand.”

Veve could not guess what the old man meant.

“Didn’t you save anything from the fire?” she asked. “Not a single thing?”

Pa Hooper waved his gnarled hand toward a far corner of the shed.

“Only that old trunk and bureau,” he said, pointing to two dusty, carpet-covered objects. “Neither of them contained anything of value.”

“Have you looked carefully, Mr. Hooper?”

“Most carefully, Miss Veve. I’d give a lot if I could find one of Ella’s old letters—in fact, anything bearing her signature.”

“You’re certain there isn’t an old letter somewhere in the trunk?”

“Quite certain.”

Veve hesitated a moment, and then said:

“Sometimes, Mr. Hooper, trunks have secret compartments or false bottoms. I know, because I’ve read about it in stories.”

Mr. Hooper chuckled as he stooped to pat Cap, who licked his hand.

“So you think my sister’s old trunk might have a secret compartment?”

“Couldn’t it?”

“My sister Ella wasn’t the type to hide anything. She was open and above board about everything she did. That’s why it seemed so queer about her will—”

The old man lapsed into deep thought without finishing what he had started to say. He seemed to forget that Veve was in the shed.

After awhile, recalling her presence, he said briskly: “Well, four more pounds of cherries to add to your total. You’re catching up with the others, Veve. Keep up the good work!”

“Yes, sir,” Veve agreed.

Then, because she was deeply interested in the old trunk and the bureau, she spoke of them again.

“Would you mind if I went through ’em sometime?” she asked. “Perhaps I might find an old letter of your sister’s. Mother says I have very sharp eyes.”

“I’ve looked through the trunk a dozen times,” Pa Hooper returned. “It’s a useless task.”

Observing Veve’s disappointment, he added quickly: “But you may search if you’re a mind to.”

“Right now?” Veve asked eagerly.

“I guess you could, only it will keep you from your cherry picking.”

“I’ll go through the trunk at the lunch hour,” Veve decided.

The little girl returned to the orchard to tell the Brownies of her plan. She found several of the girls gathered in a group around Jane.

“It’s been taken!” Jane was saying excitedly. “The Brownie pin was on my jeans and now it’s gone. It disappeared the same as the quilt did!”

Miss Gordon came down from her ladder to learn what was wrong.

Jane told her that she had worn the dancing elf pin that morning on her shirt. Only a few minutes before she had noticed that it was missing.

“You must have lost it somewhere in the orchard,” the Brownie leader declared. “But it isn’t right to suggest that someone took it.”

“Well, someone went off with our quilt!”

“That was a different matter, Jane. And I blame myself. I never should have left the coverlet under the tree.”

Jane made a great fuss over the loss of the pin. For nearly half an hour she gave up cherry picking and searched everywhere on the ground.

Several of the Brownies helped her. But they could not find the missing pin.

“It makes me fairly ill,” Jane said in a discouraged voice. “First our quilt—and now my pin. There must be someone dishonest in this orchard!”

“But Jane, no one could have taken the pin off your jeans without you having seen them,” Connie pointed out. “Besides, the pickers all seem very nice. I’m sure they wouldn’t steal.”

Besides the Brownies and their mothers, Pa Hooper had ten and sometimes twelve other persons picking for him. Everyone seemed friendly and pleasant.

The women pickers always spoke to the Brownies when they met them at the packing shed. Of course the girls had asked everyone about the missing quilt. No one had seen it. And now, no one knew anything about the lost pin.

After awhile the Brownies went back to their picking again. Even though Jane wanted them to keep looking for her pin, they felt they could not take any more time.

Veve told the girls about the trunk and the old bureau in the packing shed.

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could find some of Ella Hooper’s handwriting!” she speculated. “If I could, maybe Pa Hooper wouldn’t have to give up his orchard!”

The morning was pleasantly cool. By now the Brownies had become fairly steady if not fast pickers. Of course, they could not keep up with the others. But there were so many of them that their total kept growing and growing.

“What will we do with all our money?” Connie mused.

“Go camping, or maybe on a long trip!” Eileen proposed instantly. “I’d like to go to New York City or maybe Washington!”

All the Brownies laughed, for the idea seemed quite impossible. Even if they picked cherries for a week, they knew they could not earn enough for a long trip. But just the thought of it excited them.

At noon the Brownies ate their luncheon as quickly as possible. Veve went to the spring, hoping to see the little Mexican boy again. He was not there, but as she bent down for a cool drink, she saw something bright and shining lying in the mud.

It was the missing Brownie pin!

“And Jane was so sure someone took it!” Veve chuckled, washing the emblem under the stream of water. “Wait until she hears about this!”

Racing back to the orchard, she gave the pin to Jane.

“Well, can you beat that!” the other girl exclaimed. “I remember now, I went to the spring a couple of hours ago. I guess the pin must have slipped off my jeans and I didn’t notice.”

“You see how unfair it is to accuse anyone when you aren’t sure,” added Rosemary severely.

“I didn’t accuse any one person,” Jane defended herself. “I just said it might have been someone. Anyway, our quilt still is missing!”

With lunch finished, Veve planned to get busy on the old trunk.

Before she could do so, however, Miss Gordon called the Brownies together.

“Girls, how would you like to ride to the canning factory?” she inquired.

“What would we do there?” Connie asked quickly. She was very much interested, as were all the Brownies.

“I thought we might see how cherries are canned commercially.”

“Will we go now in your car?” inquired Sunny.

Miss Gordon explained that they would ride with Bill Flint, a truck driver, who hauled Mr. Hooper’s cherries.

“Oh! We’re going in a truck?” Veve exclaimed. Immediately, she decided to postpone her examination of the old trunk. “That will be gobs of fun!”

“I thought you might enjoy it,” Miss Gordon smiled. “Bring your sweaters, girls. We may be gone for an hour or so.”

The mothers of the Brownies decided they would rather remain at the orchard. All of the girls, however, wanted to go.

Off they raced for their jackets and sweaters. Already Bill Flint was loading the truck with lugs of cherries.

“I’ll take Miss Gordon and two of the Brownies with me up front,” he told them. “The rest will have to stand up in the back. It’s not far, though, to the factory.”

Connie and Rosemary sat with the Brownie leader. The other girls climbed into the rear of the truck, finding a tiny space which was not loaded with boxes.

“Whoever saw so many cherries!” Veve marveled. “And just think! We picked most of ’em!”

Bill Flint started the big truck engine. It made such a roar that, for a minute, the girls could not hear their own voices.

The truck rattled off down the road, past the Wingate orchard. At the first corner it turned right, onto a wide paved road.

Before the truck had gone very far, the Brownies caught sight of another cherry hauler, directly ahead. And as they neared the factory, they saw more and more trucks, all laden with fruit.

“Everyone must be going to the cannery!” Veve laughed. Her words came out in jerks, for the truck at that moment was passing over a broken patch of pavement.

A moment later, the vehicle came to a complete standstill.

“What’s wrong?” called Eileen in alarm. “Do we have a flat tire?”

Bill Flint did not need to answer the questions. By looking ahead down the road, the Brownies could see an almost endless line of trucks. Bumper to bumper, they stood, waiting their turn to move up to the factory loading and unloading dock.

“Afraid we’re stuck here for awhile,” the truck driver said, switching off the motor.

Indeed, the Brownies were traffic locked. Until the cherry-laden trucks ahead moved up, they could not budge.

CHAPTER 8
Duck’s Foot in the Mud

AT first, the Brownies did not mind waiting in line. They sang songs and played one of their favorite games.

Connie started it by saying: “I see something green which begins with the letter ‘P.’ What is it?”

“A tree!” cried Eileen before she stopped to think.

“A tree doesn’t start with the letter ‘P,’” Connie reminded her.

“Paint!” guessed Sunny Davidson, stretching a cramped arm. “Green paint on that truck just ahead!”

“That’s a good guess, but you aren’t right,” laughed Connie. “I’ll give you a tiny hint. The object I’m thinking about is over in that field to the right.”

All the Brownies glanced toward the truck garden where many green things were growing.

“Potatoes!” cried Veve. “Green potato plants!”

“That’s right,” agreed Connie. “Now it’s your turn.”

Veve looked quickly about for an object. On the opposite side of the road, a washing hung on a line. The little girl noticed a blue shirt flapping in the breeze.

“I see something which starts with the letter ‘S’—” she began, and then broke off.

She had seen another object even more interesting. Also on the line hung a red and white patterned quilt. Even from so far away Veve could see that it was a most unusual design.

“Oh, I see a quilt!” she cried.

“You’re not supposed to tell,” Jane chided her. “And quilt doesn’t start with ‘S.’”

“I’m not playing that game any more,” Veve announced. She was thinking hard. “I have an idea.”

“You and your ideas!” scoffed Jane.

Veve, however, did not hear. She nudged the truck driver.

“Bill, how long will we have to stay here?”

“Hard to tell,” he replied. “Something seems to be holding up the trucks at the cannery. They’re not moving up very fast.”

“Will we be here ten minutes?”

“We might. Then again we might not.”

“I can make it,” Veve declared and started to scramble over the high sideboard of the truck.

Jane clutched her by the seat of her jeans.

“Hey, you! Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded.

“After that quilt.” Veve pulled free and leaped lightly to the pavement. “I’m going to ask if I may have it for our Brownie show.”

“You’ll be left behind!”

“It won’t take me but a minute,” Veve insisted. “May I go, Miss Gordon?”

“Are you certain you won’t take longer than ten minutes?”

“I’m sure I can make it! Oh, please let me inquire about the quilt.”

“Run fast then,” the Brownie leader urged. “If the trucks ahead move on, we will have to pull up too to keep our place in line.”

“I can catch up,” Veve insisted. “The trucks only move a few feet at a time.”

Before Miss Gordon could offer another objection, she darted off to the farmhouse.

Good luck was with Veve. As she entered the yard, she saw a stout woman in a pink checked gingham dress hanging up another basket of clothes.

“Good morning,” Veve gasped. She was quite out of breath from running.

“Good morning, my dear,” returned the lady, taking clothes pins from her mouth. “Have I ever seen you before?”

“I don’t think so. You see, I just jumped out of that cherry truck. I wanted to ask about your beautiful quilt.”

As she spoke, Veve glanced over her shoulder toward the road. To her dismay, she saw that the truck already had moved a few feet ahead. She would have to talk fast unless she wanted to be left behind.

“It is a lovely quilt,” said the lady. “I believe the pattern is called ‘Duck’s Foot in the Mud.’ The pieced blocks do resemble the imprint of a duck’s webbed foot.”

“Oh, yes,” agreed Veve, scarcely heeding what the woman said. “The quilt would look simply gorgeous in our Brownie quilt show. Would you—would you please let me borrow it for the display? I’d take the very best care of it.”

The lady smiled because the little girl seemed so worried and earnest.

“Why, I’d love to let you have the quilt for a display,” she said. “Only I can’t.”

“You can’t?” Veve quavered.

“No. You see, the quilt isn’t mine to offer.”

“But I thought—”