in her eye. âTheyâre teaching our class first aid at school.â Rush had an uncomfortable suspicion that she would welcome his breaking a bone just for the pleasure of treating it.
âRest assured that all my bones will be guarded as carefully as rare jewels from the Indies,â said Rush. âIâm not going to have you fussing with my fractures, Mona, and putting my bones together upside down. Not a chance, pal, not a chance!â
Willy Sloper helped him with the house. There were a lot of crates, just as Father had said, and Rush and Willy made several trips up the hill carrying wood, saws, hammers and nails. Randy and Oliver were allowed to accompany them, staggering under armfuls of planks.
All Saturday and Sunday of the third weekend that the Melendys had been living in the Four-Story Mistake, the sound of hammer beats came from the woods; and finally on Sunday evening the tree house was finished. The whole family, Cuffy, Oliver, Isaac, everybody, went up the wooded hill to inspect it.
It was an excellent tree house. They all said so, even Father. It was a square, broad platform anchored to boughs twenty feet above the earth. There was a railing round it, and wires were bound from the corner posts about the branches beneath.
âYessir,â Willy Sloper said, âcanât nothinâ much shake down that little roost without itâs a hurricane. But I might need that ladder again sometime. You better build the foot pieces onto the trunk real soon.â
Rush kept forgetting about building the foot pieces. So many things were happening. Everyday they rattled off to school in the Motor. The Carthage people made quite a lot of fun of it. They called it the Jalopy, or the Aquarium, or the Caboose-that-Got-Left-Behind. The Melendys didnât mind. They knew it was a funny-looking old thing, but they were fond of it and it got them places without quite falling apart.
They had all made friends, and school was beginning to be very interesting to them. Mona was at the head of practically everything in her class except sports and mathematics. âI think Iâm going to be president pretty soon, too,â she said modestly.
Rush was the best of his class in mathematics and history. âAnd if they had a music department, Iâd be best in that,â he admitted with candor.
Randy excelled only in drawing, which they didnât have often. And poor Oliver wasnât at the head of anything at all in his class. He confessed it freely, thought for a minute, and brightened as he added, âBut me and Joseph Bryan weigh more than anybody else!â
Home was nice, too. The queer old house was comfortable and spacious; even Randy had stopped being homesick. She had built a feeding-stand for birds on the roof outside the cupola. Each day she got up early, sprinkled bread crumbs there and millet seed, and watched them come: sparrows, of course, a greedy starling, big, savage bluejays, and all the rare, shy ones: tanagers, and cardinals, and fox-brown thrushes.
Mona had pinned up all her signed photographs of actors and actresses; she was also writing a play, and learning how to knit. Rush had found the right place for his piano, and spent hours practicing whenever he wasnât up in the tree house. And Oliver, when he didnât sneak down to the cellar room, spent most of his time courting colds in the brook.
Indian summer lasted a long time that year. So long into the autumn that the violet plants beside the brook believed that spring had come again and put out new blossoms. Each day the sun shone, the birds lingered, though the trees were turning, purely out of habit, and their rose and yellow and rust looked strange and beautiful above the brilliant green grass. It was a wonderful time: almost better than spring, really, because it was rarer. Each golden day was cherished to the full, for one had the feeling that each must be the last. Tomorrow it would be winter.
The
âRest assured that all my bones will be guarded as carefully as rare jewels from the Indies,â said Rush. âIâm not going to have you fussing with my fractures, Mona, and putting my bones together upside down. Not a chance, pal, not a chance!â
Willy Sloper helped him with the house. There were a lot of crates, just as Father had said, and Rush and Willy made several trips up the hill carrying wood, saws, hammers and nails. Randy and Oliver were allowed to accompany them, staggering under armfuls of planks.
All Saturday and Sunday of the third weekend that the Melendys had been living in the Four-Story Mistake, the sound of hammer beats came from the woods; and finally on Sunday evening the tree house was finished. The whole family, Cuffy, Oliver, Isaac, everybody, went up the wooded hill to inspect it.
It was an excellent tree house. They all said so, even Father. It was a square, broad platform anchored to boughs twenty feet above the earth. There was a railing round it, and wires were bound from the corner posts about the branches beneath.
âYessir,â Willy Sloper said, âcanât nothinâ much shake down that little roost without itâs a hurricane. But I might need that ladder again sometime. You better build the foot pieces onto the trunk real soon.â
Rush kept forgetting about building the foot pieces. So many things were happening. Everyday they rattled off to school in the Motor. The Carthage people made quite a lot of fun of it. They called it the Jalopy, or the Aquarium, or the Caboose-that-Got-Left-Behind. The Melendys didnât mind. They knew it was a funny-looking old thing, but they were fond of it and it got them places without quite falling apart.
They had all made friends, and school was beginning to be very interesting to them. Mona was at the head of practically everything in her class except sports and mathematics. âI think Iâm going to be president pretty soon, too,â she said modestly.
Rush was the best of his class in mathematics and history. âAnd if they had a music department, Iâd be best in that,â he admitted with candor.
Randy excelled only in drawing, which they didnât have often. And poor Oliver wasnât at the head of anything at all in his class. He confessed it freely, thought for a minute, and brightened as he added, âBut me and Joseph Bryan weigh more than anybody else!â
Home was nice, too. The queer old house was comfortable and spacious; even Randy had stopped being homesick. She had built a feeding-stand for birds on the roof outside the cupola. Each day she got up early, sprinkled bread crumbs there and millet seed, and watched them come: sparrows, of course, a greedy starling, big, savage bluejays, and all the rare, shy ones: tanagers, and cardinals, and fox-brown thrushes.
Mona had pinned up all her signed photographs of actors and actresses; she was also writing a play, and learning how to knit. Rush had found the right place for his piano, and spent hours practicing whenever he wasnât up in the tree house. And Oliver, when he didnât sneak down to the cellar room, spent most of his time courting colds in the brook.
Indian summer lasted a long time that year. So long into the autumn that the violet plants beside the brook believed that spring had come again and put out new blossoms. Each day the sun shone, the birds lingered, though the trees were turning, purely out of habit, and their rose and yellow and rust looked strange and beautiful above the brilliant green grass. It was a wonderful time: almost better than spring, really, because it was rarer. Each golden day was cherished to the full, for one had the feeling that each must be the last. Tomorrow it would be winter.
The
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