“See here, Winnie and Merton,” I said, after a little examination, “I think we could clear out this space on the left, partition it off, make a door, and keep the chickens here. After that window is washed, a good deal of sunlight can come in. I’ve read that in cold weather poultry need warmth and light, and must be kept dry. Here we can secure all these conditions. Having a home for ourselves, suppose we set to work to make a home for the chickens.”
This idea delighted Winnie, and pleased Merton almost as much as hunting rabbits. “Now,” I resumed, “we will go to the house and get what we need for the work.”
“Winifred,” I said to my wife, “can you let Winnie have a small pail of hot water and some old rags?”
“What are you up to now?”
“You know all about cleaning house; we are going to clean barn, and make a place for Winnie’s chickens. There is a window in their future bedroom—roost-room I suppose I should call it—that looks as if it had never been washed, and to get off the dust of years will be Winnie’s task, while Merton, Bobsey, and I create an interior that should satisfy a knowing hen. We’ll make nests, too, children, that will suggest to the biddies that they should proceed at once to business.”
“But where are the chickens to come from?” my wife asked, as she gave the pan to Merton to carry for his sister.
“Oh, John Jones will put me in the way of getting them soon;” and we started out to our morning’s work. Mousie looked after us wistfully, but her mother soon found light tasks for her, and she too felt that she was helping. “Remember, Mousie,” I said, in parting, “that I have three helpers, and surely mamma needs one;” and she was content.
Merton at first was for pitching all the old cornstalks out into the yard, but I said: “That won’t do. We shall need a cow as well as chickens, and these stalks must be kept dry for her bedding. We’ll pile them up in the inner empty stall. You can help at that, Bobsey;” and we set to work.
Under Winnie’s quick hands more and more light came through the window. With a fork I lifted and shook up the stalks, and the boys carried them to the empty stall. At last we came to rubbish that was so damp and decayed that it would be of no service indoors, so we placed it on a barrow and I wheeled it out to one corner of the yard. At last we came down to a hard earth floor, and with a hoe this was cleared and made smooth.
“Merton,” I said, “I saw an old broom upstairs. Run and get it, and we’ll brush down the cobwebs and sweep out, and then we shall be ready to see about the partition.”
XVII
Good Bargains in Maple Sugar
By eleven o’clock we had all the basement cleaned except the one cow stall that was filled to the ceiling with litter; and Winnie had washed the windows. Then John Jones’s lank figure darkened the doorway, and he cried, “Hello, neighbor, what ye drivin’ at?”
“Look around and see, and then tell us where to get a lot of chickens.”
“Well, I declare! How you’ve slicked things up! You’re not goin’ to scrub the dirt floor, are you? Well, well, this looks like business—just the place for chickens. Wonder old man Jamison didn’t keep ’em here; but he didn’t care for fowls. Now I think of it, there’s to be a vandoo the first of the week, and there was a lot o’ chickens printed on the poster.”
I smiled.
“Oh, I don’t mean that the chickens themselves was on the poster, but a statement that a lot would be sold at auction. I’ll bid ’em in for you if they’re a good lot. If you, a city chap, was to bid, some straw bidder would raise ’em agin you. I know what they’re wuth, and everybody there’ll know I do, and they’ll try no sharp games with me.”
“That will suit me exactly, Mr. Jones. I don’t want any game fowls of that kind.”
“Ha, ha! I see the p’int. Have you looked into the root cellar?”
“Yes; we opened the door and looked, but it was dark as a pocket.”
“Well, I don’t b’lieve in matches around a barn, but I’ll show you something;” and he opened the door, struck a match, and, holding it aloft, revealed a heap of turnips, another of carrots, five barrels of potatoes, and three of apples. The children pounced upon the last with appetites sharpened by their morning’s work.
“You see,” resumed Mr. Jones, “these were here when old man Jamison died. If I hadn’t sold the place I should have taken them out before long, and got rid of what I didn’t want. Now you can have the lot at a low figure,” which he named.
“I’ll take them,” I said, promptly.
“The carrots make it look like a goldmine,” cried Merton.
“Well, you’re wise,” resumed Mr. Jones. “You’ll have to get a cow and a horse, and here’s fodder for ’em handy. Perhaps I can pick ’em out for you, too, at the vandoo. You can go along, and if anything strikes your fancy I’ll bid on it.”
“O papa,” cried the children, in chorus, “can we go with you to the vandoo?”
“Yes, I think so. When does the sale take place?”
“Next Tuesday. That’s a good breed of potatoes. Jamison allus had the best of everything. They’ll
