“It cheers one up to enter a kitchen like this,” she said.
“It is to be your garden for a time also,” I exclaimed to Mousie. “I shall soon have by this east window a table with shallow boxes of earth, and in them you can plant some of your flower seeds. I only ask that I may have two of the boxes for early cabbages, lettuce, tomatoes, etc. You and your plants can take a sunbath every morning until it is warm, enough to go out of doors, and you’ll find the plants won’t die here as they did in the dark, gas-poisoned city flat.”
“I feel as if I were going to grow faster and stronger than the plants,” cried the happy child.
Junior and Merton now appeared, each carrying a rabbit. My boy’s face, however, was clouded, and he said, a little despondently, “I can’t shoot straight—missed every time; and Junior shot ’em after I had fired and missed.”
“Pshaw!” cried Junior; “Merton’s got to learn to take a quick steady sight, like everyone else. He gets too excited.”
“That’s just it, my boy,” I said. “You shall go down by the creek and fire at a mark a few times every day, and you’ll soon hit it every time. Junior’s head is too level to think that anything can be done well without practice. Now, Junior,” I added, “run over home and help your father bring us our dinner, and then you stay and help us eat it.”
Father and son soon appeared, well laden. Winnie and Bobsey came in ravenous from their pathmaking, and all agreed that we had already grown one vigorous rampant Maizeville crop—an appetite.
The potpie was exulted over, and the secret of its existence explained. Even Junior laughed till the tears came as I described him, his father, and Merton, floundering through the deep snow after the rabbit, and we all congratulated Merton as the one who had provided our first country dinner.
XVI
Making a Place for Chickens
Before the meal was over, I said, seriously, “Now, boys, there must be no more hunting until I find out about the game laws. They should be obeyed, especially by sportsmen. I don’t think that we are forbidden to kill rabbits on our own place, particularly when they threaten to be troublesome; and the hunt this morning was so unexpected that I did not think of the law, which might be used to make us trouble. You killed the other rabbits on this place, Junior?”
“Yes, sir, both of ’em.”
“Well, hereafter you must look after hawks, and other enemies of poultry. Especially do I hope you will never fire at our useful songbirds. If boys throughout the country would band together to protect game when out of season, they would soon have fine sport in the autumn.”
In the afternoon we let Winnie and Bobsey expend their energy in making paths and lanes in every direction through the snow, which was melting rapidly in the south wind. By three o’clock the rain began to fall, and when darkness set in there was a gurgling sound of water on every side. Our crackling fire made the warmth and comfort within seem tenfold more cheery.
A hearty supper, prepared in our own kitchen, made us feel that our home machinery had fairly started, and we knew that it would run more and more smoothly. March was keeping up its bad name for storm and change. The wind was again roaring, but laden now with rain, and in gusty sheets the heavy drops dashed against the windows. But our old house kept us dry and safe, although it rocked a little in the blasts. They soon proved a lullaby for our second night at home.
After breakfast the following morning, with Merton, Winnie, and Bobsey, I started out to see if any damage had been done. The sky was still clouded, but the rain had ceased. Our rubber boots served us well, for the earth was like an overfull sponge, while down every little incline and hollow a stream was murmuring.
The old barn showed the need of a good many nails to be driven here and there, and a deal of mending. Then it would answer for cornstalks and other coarse fodder. The new barn had been fairly built, and the interior was dry. It still contained as much hay as would be needed for the keeping of a horse and cow until the new crop should be harvested.
“Papa,” cried Winnie, “where is the chicken place?”
“That is one of the questions we must settle at once,” I replied. “As we were coming out I saw an old coop in the orchard. We’ll go and look at it.”
It was indeed old and leaky, and had poultry been there the previous night they would have been half drowned on their perches. “This might do for a summer cottage for your chickens, Winnie,” I continued, “but never for a winter house. Let us go back to the barn, for I think I remember a place that will just suit, with some changes.”
Now the new barn had been built on a hillside, and had an
