Read Ebook: The White Crystals: Being an Account of the Adventures of Two Boys by Garis Howard Roger Bates Bertha Corson Day Illustrator

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 1149 lines and 49077 words, and 23 pages

nt some time ago. Dress, and we'll have breakfast."

Roger looked out of the window while putting his clothes on. It was just getting faintly light, and some stars were still to be seen. From the kitchen there came the good smell of hot coffee and buckwheat cakes with fried sausage, and Roger knew his aunt was up.

While the boys were eating the excellent breakfast Mrs. Kimball set on the table, she put them up a good lunch in a basket, as they would not be home to dinner. In a short time they were ready for the start, and the wagon clattered out the side yard, Adrian driving the big white horse.

It was a pleasant trip to Tully, a town about eight miles from Cardiff. The first part of the journey was along the valley road, but at the upper end of this there began an ascent, which led up a steep hill to a sort of plateau on the small mountain top.

Past the scattered farmhouses they drove in the early dawn, and they had proceeded nearly a mile before the sun peeped up smiling from behind the hills, to send the gray, misty fog swirling lazily upward. The white horse pulled nobly up the incline, stopping now and then to rest at the "thank-'e-ma'ams," as certain places in the road were called; being mounds of earth dug across the highway, designed to prevent the too sudden rush of water down the hill during a rain. These hummocks served to divert the water to one side like a gutter, and also made good resting places, for they held the rear wheels of the wagon. At length the boys reached the top of the hill and started off on a level stretch for Tully, where Andrews Brothers had a store, at which Mr. Kimball sold considerable produce.

James Andrews, one of the brothers, was arranging some barrels of apples outside the place when Adrian drove up.

"Good morning, Mr. Andrews," called Adrian.

"Same to you," replied the store-keeper, heartily. "What brings you over here so early?"

"I've got that load of grapes you ordered of my father."

"Load of grapes?" with a puzzled air.

"Yes. Father got your letter, and he didn't have time to come over himself to-day, so I made the trip."

"But I didn't order any grapes--Oh, yes, I did, come to think of it; but, Ade, I didn't want 'em until next week. I said so in my letter. Let's see, to-day is the 18th. I ordered 'em for the 26th. Can't possibly use 'em this week, for I've got all I need. Sorry," as he saw the disappointed look on the boy's face. "Just tell your father if he looks at my letter he'll see I asked him to send a load over next week. Better try some of the other stores, they might need 'em."

"Well," said Adrian, slowly, "I s'pose you're right, Mr. Andrews, and father must have read your letter wrong. So I guess the only thing to do is to try to get rid of this load over at Smith's or Brown's."

"Don't forget I 'll want some a week from to-day," cautioned Mr. Andrews as Adrian drove off. "Be sure and tell your father."

"I will," called back Adrian.

Two rather sober-faced boys watched the white horse slowly jog along the Tully street. They had expected to unload the grapes, get the money and have a nice drive back, taking their time. But the wrong date had upset their plans. However there was a chance that Mr. Brown or Mr. Smith might need grapes, and the prospect of selling their produce there brightened matters for a little while. But their hopes were soon shattered, for, at both places, the supply of this fruit was large enough to last several days, though both proprietors said they would be in the market next week.

"Well," said Roger, slowly, as they turned about from a visit to the last store, "I suppose the only thing to do is to go back home."

"What? And with this load of grapes unsold?" exclaimed Adrian. "Not much! I came to Tully to sell them, and I'm going to do it."

"How?"

"Well, I guess I will help," replied Roger, a little hurt to think that his cousin felt he wouldn't stand by him in an emergency. "Here, we'll drive along, and I'll take one side of the street, and you can go on the other."

"That'll be just the thing," said Adrian.

So the two boys started in to get rid of the fruit. They went from house to house, carrying the baskets with the covers off to show the big red, white, and purple clusters. They inquired politely of the villagers whether they didn't need some freshly picked grapes, at ten or fifteen cents a basket, and, before they had been in half a dozen places each one had sold four. The bony old white horse jogged slowly along the road, contentedly stopping now and then to nibble a sweet bunch of grass.

"I guess we can't sell any more here," said Adrian as he counted over his money.

"What'll we do? Go back home?"

"No, I guess we'll push on to Dagman's Corners. That's only four miles farther, and we can peddle some on the way. But, come to think of it, I'm hungry. Ain't you?"

"A little bit," admitted Roger with a laugh.

So the boys drove a short way out of the village, and pulled the white horse up along side of a grassy bank. After Adrian had fixed the oats, which they had brought with them, so that the patient nag could eat, he opened the lunch his mother had put up for him and Roger. There was a clear spring of water near by, and from this the boys and the horse drank. It was like a picnic instead of work, Roger thought, as he breathed in the pure, cool air, and felt his cheeks glowing in the October sun.

The meal over they took a brief rest, and then resumed the trip. In the next village they succeeded in disposing of all the remaining grapes, the dusty miller of the town taking the last four baskets. Thus, with about fifteen dollars snugly tucked away in his pocket, Adrian felt that he and Roger had accomplished something worth while, for he had received a little higher price for the fruit by peddling it around than if he had sold it to Mr. Andrews, who would have paid wholesale rates, while the boys had done business at retail.

"I don't call this bad," commented Adrian as he turned the horse for the journey home.

"I should say not," agreed Roger, heartily.

It was the first time he had ever taken an active part in any real business transactions, and it made him want to do more in that line when he saw how self-reliant Adrian had been in the trading.

When the boys reached Tully on the return trip it was five o'clock. They had eight miles to drive, but, as Adrian knew the road, he didn't mind the gathering darkness, though to Roger it seemed strange, for he had never driven in the country after nightfall. In the city it was very light after dark, but here in Cardiff it was almost as black as ink when twilight had faded, for there were no street lamps to dispel the gloom.

It was mostly down-hill going now, and the old white horse, knowing his stable and a manger full of oats was ahead of him, jogged rapidly along. It grew darker and darker, until, when they reached the top of the long slope of Tully hill, the last vestige of the slanting rays of the sun disappeared, and night had settled down. Calling cheerfully to the horse Adrian whistled a merry tune, and Roger joined in. Then they talked of various topics,--of the success of their trip, and what they would do to-morrow and next day.

"That's the last house in the village of Tully," said Adrian, suddenly, indicating a lonely cabin. "Pete Hallenbeck lives there, but he can't be home to-night, or there'd be a light in the window. He's lived all alone since his wife died. After we pass this there's not a place where anybody lives for three miles, until we get to the edge of Cardiff."

They went along for a mile or so, whistling and singing. Suddenly there was a jolt of the wagon, and Roger, who was sitting well toward the front of the seat, felt himself thrown forward with considerable force. Instinctively he stuck out his hands, and he felt them strike the broad haunches of the horse. Then, with a rattle and bang he kept on falling down until he had rolled out completely on the animal's back, and thence off to one side, into the soft grass along the road, where he lay stunned.

He could hear, as in a dream, Adrian faintly shouting to him, and then something seemed to flash by him. There was a confused rattle and rumble that grew fainter and fainter, and the blackness became more intense.

As if he was falling fast asleep he heard a voice calling: "Roger! Roger!"

Then his eyes seemed to close tightly and he knew nothing more, as he lay in a huddled heap on the ground.

LOST ON THE MOUNTAIN

Roger seemed to be sinking down into some dark pit, falling lower and lower, until he appeared to strike against something and bound upward. A myriad of stars danced before his eyes, and, as he thus floated upward, he instinctively put up his hands to avoid contact with whatever might be above him. Then, with a suddenness that startled him, he came to his senses and found himself sitting at the side of the road, in the damp grass, while all around was pitchy blackness.

He rubbed his eyes and the back of his head, and he was somewhat alarmed when his hand came away wet with blood from a slight wound. He tried to stand, but found he was too tottery on his legs.

"Well," he managed to say, "there must have been an accident. I fell off the wagon, that's sure, and from the way my head feels I must have struck on a stone. Guess I cut myself too, but not badly," as he failed to find any serious wound on his scalp.

He rubbed his hands in the damp grass and drew them out dripping with dew. He dabbled this water on his forehead and felt better.

"I think the horse must have run away," he went on, "or else I'd see something of Adrian by this time, though it's as dark as a pocket here, and hard enough to locate your hand before your face, let alone somebody away down the road."

Roger listened intently, but could catch no sound of rattling wheels, nor the beating of a horse's hoofs, which might have indicated that the wagon was coming back. All about was silence and darkness. The boy tried again to stand up, and found that his momentary weakness had passed.

"I guess I'd better walk on until I meet Adrian," he said to himself. "He'll be sure to be coming back soon," and he started off in the direction he thought was toward Cardiff.

Now if Roger had lived all his life in the country, or if he had been more familiar with the road, he probably would have had no trouble in starting on the right way back home. Very likely he would have done so instinctively; or he might have gotten his bearings from the stars, which shone overhead, though somewhat dimly. As it was, he became confused in the darkness, and, owing to a slight dizziness caused by his fall, instead of going toward Cardiff, he began walking back toward Tully.

He was a little sore and stiff at first, but, as he went on, this disappeared, and he stepped out briskly enough. He thought he would not have far to go before meeting his cousin, but, as he walked farther and farther, he commenced to wonder what had become of Adrian. But then, he reassured himself, perhaps Adrian had had some trouble in bringing the old white horse to a stop, though the animal had not seemed to be such a mettlesome steed.

"But I'll meet him soon, now," said Roger, trying to comfort himself.

He could feel the soft dusty road under his feet, and its whiteness was like a big indistinct chalk mark on a large blackboard, as it came faintly through the darkness. But, somehow or other, in a little while the white mark seemed to be fading away. It grew so dim that even by the hardest squinting of the eyes, it could no longer be seen. It appeared also that the character of the road was changing. It was no longer dusty and soft, but hard, and firm, and, instead of going down hill, Roger found himself ascending the grade.

"Hold on!" exclaimed the boy, "this is queer. I must have turned around."

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet