On Wednesday morning Merton came running in, exclaiming, “O papa! there’s a green worm eating all the leaves off the currant and gooseberry bushes.”
I followed him hastily, and found that considerable mischief had already been done, and I went to one of my fruit books in a hurry to find out how to cope with this new enemy.
As a result, I said: “Merton, mamma wishes to go to the village. You drive her and Mousie down, and at the drugstore get two pounds of white hellebore, also a pound of Paris green, for I find that the potato bugs are getting too thick to be managed by hand. Remember that these are poisons, the Paris green a deadly one. Have them carefully wrapped up, and keep them from everything else. When you return I’ll take charge of them. Also, get a new large watering can.”
That afternoon I mixed a heaping tablespoonful of the hellebore through the contents of the watering can, on which I had painted the word “Poison.” With this infusion I sprinkled thoroughly every bush on which I could find a worm, and the next morning we had the pleasure of finding most of these enemies dead. But some escaped or new ones were hatched, and we found that we could save our currants only by constant vigilance. Every evening, until the fruit was nearly ripe, we went over the bushes, and gave the vile little pests a dose wherever we found them. Our other can I also labelled “Poison,” with dashes under it to show that it was to be used for Paris green alone. A teaspoonful of this deadly agent was enough, according to my book, for the amount of water held by the ordinary wooden pail. I kept this poison out of Bobsey’s reach, and, indeed, where no one but myself could get at it, and, by its aid, destroyed the potato beetles and their larvae also. Whatever may be true in other parts of the world, in our region, certainly, success can be secured only by prompt, intelligent effort.
XXXII
Cherries, Berries, and Berry-Thieves
An evening or two after this we were taught that not even in our retired nook had we escaped the dangers of city life. Winnie and Bobsey, in their rambles after strawberries, had met two other children, and, early in the acquaintance, fortunately brought them to the house. The moment I saw the strange girl, I recognized a rural type of Melissa Daggett, while the urchin of Bobsey’s age did not scruple to use vile language in my hearing. I doubt whether the poor little savage had any better vernacular. I told them kindly but firmly that they must not come on the place again without my permission.
After supper I went over and asked Mr. Jones about these children, and he replied, significantly, looking around first to make sure that no one heard him:
“Mr. Durham, steer clear of those people. You know there are certain varmints on a farm to which we give a wide berth and kill ’em when we can. Of course we can’t kill off this family, although a good contribution could be taken up any day to move ’em a hundred miles away. Still about everybody gives ’em a wide berth, and is civil to their faces. They’ll rob you more or less, and you might as well make up your mind to it, and let ’em alone.”
“Suppose I don’t let them alone?”
“Well—remember, now, this is wholly between ourselves—there’s been barns burned around here. Everybody’s satisfied who sot ’em afire, but nothin’ can be proved. Your cow or horse, too, might suddenly die. There’s no tellin’ what accidents would happen if you got their ill will.”
“I can’t take the course you suggest toward this family,” I said, after a little thought. “It seems to me wrong on both sides. On one hand, they are treated as outlaws, and that would go far to make them such; on the other, they are permitted to levy a sort of blackmail and commit crime with impunity. Of course I must keep my children away from them; but, if the chance offers, I shall show the family kindness, and if they molest me I shall try to give them the law to the utmost.”
“Well,” concluded Mr. Jones, with a shrug, “I’ve warned you, if they git down on yer, yer’ll find ’em snakes in the grass.”
Returning home, I said nothing to Winnie and Bobsey against their recent companions, but told them that if they went with them again, or made the acquaintance of other strangers without permission, they would be put on bread and water for an entire day—that all such action was positively forbidden.
It was evident, however, that the Melissa Daggett element was present in the country, and in an aggravated form. That it was not next door, or, rather, in the next room, was the redeeming feature. Residents in the country are usually separated by wide spaces from evil association.
It must not be thought that my wife and children had no society except that afforded by Mr. Jones’s family. They were gradually making pleasant and useful acquaintances, especially among those whom we met at church; but as these people have no material part in this simple history, they are not mentioned.
The most important activities of the season were now drawing very near. The cherries were swelling fast; the currants were growing red, and were already pronounced “nice for pies;” and one morning Merton came rushing in with a red raspberry from the Highland Hardy variety. I was glad the time was at hand when I should begin to receive something besides advice from Mr. Bogart; for, careful as we had been, the drain on my capital had been long and steady, and were eager for the turn of the tide.
I had bought a number of old Mr. Jamison’s crates, had painted out his name and replaced it with mine. I
