The Green Turtle Mystery (26 page)

“I can’t sell you no thin’,” the woman snapped. “My husband forbids me to open the door when he’s out in the fields. An’ besides, what are you whisperin’ about? There can’t no good come of them kind of actions. You get on your way or I’ll—–”

“But, ma’am,” Djuna pleaded, and he wished the woman would wait just long enough to let him explain.

“You get on your way right now or I’ll turn the dog loose on you,” the woman broke in. Champ barked three times, to say, “
Let him come!
”

The two boys looked at each other and Buddy shrugged his shoulders and started for the steps. They went out to the road and started west again in silence, Champ turning back to growl softly at the shepherd dog every few steps.

“You know, I bet her food would be stale, anyway,” Buddy said, breaking the silence. They both giggled at that for a moment and somehow they didn’t feel
quite
so hungry.

The boys had covered close on another mile, with Champ trotting wearily along behind them, when something caused Djuna to turn to see if Champ was all right. He stopped abruptly and turned around when he saw Champ sitting in the middle of the road about a hundred feet back with his red tongue hanging out so that it almost touched the dust.

“What’s the matter?” Buddy said as he turned and saw Djuna running back towards Champ.

“He’s thirsty,” Djuna shouted back. He felt pretty bad when he thought that Champ hadn’t had a drink all morning. He picked Champ up in his arms and was climbing over a fence into a field when Buddy joined him. “I’m going to take him over to the river so that he can get a drink,” he explained. “You know his legs are awful short.”

“Maybe his legs
are
short,” Buddy said, “but he’s about the bravest dog I ever saw for his size. You know, if you hadn’t stopped him, I think he would have gone for that big black dog back there.”

“Sure, he would,” Djuna said proudly. “He’d fight an elephant if the elephant were nasty to him. He pretends to be fierce with people because he knows most people will understand, but he’s really very gentle.” Champ lifted his head and licked Djuna’s cheeks to add strength to his words. “But he won’t take any back talk from another dog, no matter how big he is.”

“I wish he were
my
dog,” Buddy said.

They climbed over another fence and Djuna put Champ down on the edge of the Herring River. Champ bobbed his head up and down a couple of times to show that he appreciated what had been done for him and then he began to drink, while Djuna and Buddy found a place where they could do the same thing and duck their heads afterwards. When they stood up Buddy pulled a comb out of his pocket and combed back his shock of red hair. “They made us comb our hair every morning after we’d washed, at camp,” he explained, “so I always carried my comb in my pocket. It’s kind of a nuisance, but you can use it if you want to.” Djuna took the comb and used it without saying anything.

But when they were back on the road they all felt very much refreshed until they began to remember how hungry they were again. It was Djuna who spoke about it first, this time.

“What kind of soles do you have on your shoes?” he asked Buddy. Buddy looked down at his feet and said, “Rubber, I guess. They’re the same kind of camp shoes I have every summer. Why?”

“I was just thinking about a story I read one time,” Djuna said. “It was about a man who was lost someplace and didn’t have any food. Maybe it was on a desert island. I forget, exactly. But when he couldn’t stand it any longer he took the soles off his shoes and cooked ’em over a fire for a long time and then ate them. Mine are rubber, too.”

“Jeepers! He must have been awfully hungry,” Buddy said, and added after a moment of thought, “Rubber would smell terrible if you cooked it.”

“Oh, I’m not that hungry
either
,” Djuna said. “But I was thinking, too, suppose we never come to another house?”

“You always come to another house if you keep on long enough,” Buddy said, reasonably enough. “There’s a place called Dean’s Mills along here someplace, unless we’ve lost it.”

Just at that moment they came round a bend, and only a short distance ahead of them they saw a road that led off to the left, and at the end of the road beside the river there was a little cluster of houses around what was left of an old gristmill. “There’s Dean’s Mills!” Buddy shouted.

They stood staring with silent hopefulness at the half-dozen houses gleaming brightly in the summer sunshine and not a sound broke the lovely stillness of the morning. And then, suddenly Djuna and Buddy were staring at each other with an expression of puzzled wonder in their eyes and Champ was cocking his head on one side and then the other as he stared up a little lane off to the right. None of them could believe what they heard until an old grey horse came plodding around a turn in the road drawing a covered wagon.

The old grey horse had a couple of fresh black-eyed Susans stuck at a jaunty angle in his harness where the cheek piece joined the front, that made him look a lot younger than he was. Driving him was a little girl, about the age of Djuna and Buddy, with taffy-coloured hair and red cheeks. She was swinging the reins to keep time, and her teeth flashed very white against her sun-tanned face as she sang. Beside her was a spry old man with a nose like an eagle’s beak and laughter in his eyes, who was playing an accordion and singing as he played. They were singing:

Just as the horse reached the road where the boys were standing with their mouths open, they finished the chorus and the old man shouted, “Ho! Blade!” The horse took a couple more steps, that sounded just like the steps a tap dancer takes before he stops dancing, and came to a stop.

“Good morning, boys,” the old man called cheerily. “You’re out on the road pretty early, ain’t you?”

“Good … good morning,” Djuna stammered. Buddy didn’t say anything. He was staring at the little girl as though he had never seen a little girl before.

“Cat’s got his tongue!” the old man said, in what was supposed to be a whisper to the little girl, as he winked at Djuna and hooked a thumb towards Buddy. The little girl’s face turned very, very red and Buddy started and said, “Hi-yah—I mean, good morning, sir!”

“Travellin’ far?” the old man asked, and even though his eyes were laughing they were also searching the boys’ faces and their clothes with careful scrutiny.

“Yes, sir,” Djuna said. “All the way to Riverton.”

“Hum! All the way to Riverton, eh? You had your breakfast yet?” the old man asked.

Djuna and Buddy looked at each other and they both began to giggle as they thought of the way the woman in the grey house had shouted “
BREAKFAST!
” at them.

“Well, you see—–” Djuna said, when the old man interrupted him.

“Just like us! Late eaters!” the old man said, and nodded his head. He put a foot down on the step of the wagon and held on to a wheel while he got to the ground with surprising agility. “My name is James Kemper,” he said and shook hands with both of them quickly. His eyes twinkled as he added, “But
everybody
calls me Mr. Scissors.” He pointed at a sign painted on the side of his wagon that read:

I SHARPEN EVERYTHING—BUT YOUR WITS

Both of the boys began to snicker as they read the sign. They had been so busy looking at the little girl and Mr. Scissors that they hadn’t had time to notice the brightly painted wagon.

“This,” said Mr. Scissors, indicating the little girl, “is my granddaughter,
Miss
Joan Kemper. You can just call her Joan.” Both of the boys bowed gravely to Joan and she gave each of them a very nice smile in acknowledgment.

“And this,” Mr. Scissors said, moving up in front of the grey horse, “is Old Blade.” He slapped his hands together and added, “He was a young blade once!”

Both of the boys bowed gravely again and when they looked up they never were sure whether Old Blade winked at them, or whether he just had something in his eye. Anyway, he nuzzled Mr. Scissors’ shoulder and Mr. Scissors said, “Just a minute, old fellah.” He led Old Blade over to a level, shady spot beside the road and then beckoned to Djuna and Champ as he reached into the back of the wagon and brought out a collapsible canvas bucket.

“If you boys will take this bucket over to the river and fetch a pail of water Joan and me will start mixin’ up a little spot of breakfast for all of us,” he said. If Mr. Scissors had been listening carefully he would have heard Buddy say, “
Breakfast!
“as they started on a run for the river.

When the boys arrived back with the bucket of water, Mr. Scissors had taken off Old Blade’s bridle and had fitted a nose-bag over his head, from which he was happily munching. His ears stuck through a floppy straw hat Mr. Scissors had put on top of his head to keep the flies off, which made him look very much like somebody’s grandmother. Joan was sitting on a folding camp-stool busily sewing a button on one of Mr. Scissors’ shirts with a needle and thread she had taken from a small tin canister that stood beside her. Champ was lying on the other side of her, acting as though he had known her all his life. While the boys had gone down to the river she had put a very bright red ribbon on her taffy-coloured hair, that just matched the red in the dress she was wearing. But the boys didn’t even notice it.

When they put the pail of water down Mr. Scissors said, “Now—–” Mr. Scissors stopped speaking and put his hand to his forehead. “Say! I clean forgot to ask you boys what your names are. Not that it makes much difference. I could call you Dick and Harry, but you probably wouldn’t answer me and I can’t say I’d blame you.”

“My name’s Djuna,” Djuna said when he had stopped snickering.

“
Djuna
, eh? Anything more?”

“No, sir. That’s all.”

“Well, that’s enough,” Mr. Scissors said, dismissing the subject.

“Mine’s Buddy Turner, but a lot of the kids call me Carrots,” Buddy said

“I think I’ll stick to Buddy,” Mr. Scissors said, with his eyes twinkling. “You both from Riverton?”

Buddy nodded his head and Djuna said, “I’m from Edenboro.”

“Pretty little place, Edenboro,” Mr. Scissors said, and for a moment he looked almost sad. “I’ve been through there. Sometimes it seems to me I’ve been almost every place tryin’ to find things to sharpen. Things stay sharp too long if people take the right kind of care of them.”

“Say, Mr. Scissors,” Buddy said eagerly, “maybe you used to know my grandmother, Mrs. Hill. When she was alive she lived at Hilltop, back—–”

“Up on the hill about three miles west,” Mr. Scissors said. “No, I never knew her but I understand she was a very fine and sensible woman. She would have nothing to do with them things people go rushin’ around in—motor cars. As a matter of fact, I bought that wagonette there and Old Blade’s harness at a auction at Hilltop after your grandmother died.”

“Oh, Granpa!” Joan called from the other side of the wagon. “Aren’t we ever going to eat?”

“just as soon as you cook it, young lady,” he called back. He lowered his voice and said, “Just like her grandmother … always orderin’ me around.”

Mr. Scissors went to the back of the wagon and pulled on a rope and the two canvas curtains that covered the back slid against the sides. Then he lifted a little trap-door from the floor and pulled out three folding steps that just reached the ground after he had secured them in place.

“
Jiminy crimps!
” Buddy said. And he and Djuna exchanged awed glances while Mr. Scissors chuckled.

There was a comfortable-looking bunk built along each side of the wagon. One was about eight inches shorter than the other and had a curtain that could be drawn around it. At the foot of the shorter one was a narrow chest of drawers about three feet high with a mirror above it. Joan’s toilet articles and Mr. Scissors’ razor were arranged on top of it and it had a narrow little band of wood around it to keep them from falling off. Opposite was another oval curtain rod with a curtain on it that screened a wardrobe for Joan’s dresses, and some of Mr. Scissors’ clothes, too.

Mr. Scissors put the trap-door back and climbed up into the wagon. He pulled two boxes out from behind the seat and pushed them down the narrow aisle between the bunks. “If you boys will just lift those down and put ’em where Joan wants ’em, I’ll bring the stove,” he said.

Each of the boxes was about two feet deep, twenty inches wide and two feet long. They had handles on the ends and the boys found that they could each lift one without any trouble.

“Let’s see,” Joan said as she put on a gingham apron. “I think you’d better put them here, on this side of the tree, so we’ll be in the shade all through breakfast. Put them together and, after I get what I want out of them, we’ll use them for our table.”

Joan opened the two mess boxes and inside each one was an inside cover, the full width of the top. “I use these for bread boards, but I’m not going to make any this morning,” she said. “I was going to make some biscuits but it’s too hot.”

“Can—can
you
make biscuits?” Djuna asked.

“They’re easy to make,” Joan said modestly. “You see I started to cook when I was quite young.”

Both of the boys watched her while she put the bread boards aside and began to open the various hinged compartments to get the provisions and utensils she needed from inside the pine boxes.

There were salt and pepper pots, enamelled cups and plates, two frying pans, a stewpot, a coffee pot, a tin measuring cup and a couple of kettles with lids, a bread tin, soup bowls, two sharp knives, spoons, forks and dinner knives, a wash-basin, teaspoons, and a lot of miscellaneous things they couldn’t even keep track of. And there were all kinds of light provisions, from flour and oatmeal to vinegar and dried potatoes.

“We buy most of our stuff as we go along,” Joan explained, “and keep all of the stuff like milk in the ice-box in the wagon.”