"do you have to work all the time?" asked sarah plaintively.
she sat on the top of a fence rail and, her feet hooked around the next bar, was placidly, if precariously, watching richard gilbert tinkering with a cultivator that had developed a sudden "kink."
"well, summer is the time to work, on a farm," richard answered good-naturedly. "you have to cultivate the corn when there is corn to cultivate, sarah."
sarah nodded, her eyes on the horse which stood patiently waiting.
"he's shivering," she said. "look—see him shiver, rich. and it is just as hot!"
"that isn't shivering," replied richard, glancing up from the wheel in his hand. "solomon is twitching to shake a fly off—that's all."
"did he shake it off?" demanded sarah with interest.
"i suppose so," answered richard absently, searching for a screw he had dropped in the dirt.
"i could get the fly batter and swat flies for solomon," suggested sarah. "he'd like that, wouldn't he? i could ride on his back and hit all the flies, rich."
"yes, that sounds like a good scheme," admitted richard cautiously, "but something tells me it wouldn't work. if you didn't frighten solomon into fits, or start him galloping, or fall off and break your neck, you'd be sure to distract me from the work in hand and then mr. hildreth would want to know why i hadn't finished the corn. i'm afraid, sarah, sol will have to worry along in the same old way. the flies aren't bad to-day, anyway."
"yes they are, he's twitching again," said sarah. "he ought to wear a window screen—or something."
she was secretly relieved that her swatter plan had not been accepted, for she had a marked aversion to killing flies. indeed many a royal battle had she waged with winnie over the matter of killing flies that found their way into the house; sarah, left alone, would slowly and painfully have captured each fly alive and unharmed and given him his freedom via the front door.
"horses sometimes wear nets—or they used to when they were used for driving," explained richard, beginning to pound the wheel in place. "as a horse ran or trotted, the net hobbled up and down and was supposed to keep the flies off; that wouldn't be any use when a horse is walking slowly around a field. a blanket would keep them away from solomon, of course, but he'd die with the heat."
"i'll invent something for him," said sarah comfortably.
"where are the other girls?" asked richard hastily.
a few weeks' acquaintance with sarah had already taught him the expediency of keeping her in action. sarah on the move might do some very startling things but a contemplative sarah presented possibilities that were limitless.
"hugh came and took rosemary and shirley with him," answered the small girl balancing on the fence. "i didn't want to go. i don't like automobiles much. when i grow up, i'm going to have a hundred horses and pigs and cows and everything."
"that'll be fine," richard approved. "there now, i think that will work. have to be moving on, sarah; you going to wait for me to come round again?"
"no, that isn't any fun," said sarah with more frankness than politeness. "guess i'll go out to the orchard."
"don't go through the upper field," commanded richard, gathering up the lines.
sarah scrambled down from the fence and reached for solomon's glossy black tail.
"why not?" she asked suspiciously.
"because mr. hildreth turned the old ram out to pasture there this morning, that's why," said richard. "here, what are you trying to do?"
sarah had grasped a handful of the horse's tail and was pulling on it wildly. old solomon turned his head around and stared at her reproachfully.
"i want to get enough hairs to make a ring," explained sarah. "the washwoman is going to show me how next time she comes, but she said i had to get the hair."
"how many do you think you need?" said richard, laughing as he released the tail from the covetous clutch of the small fingers. "you won't want more than half a dozen as long as these; solomon thought you meant to pull his tail out by the roots, didn't you, boy?"
"i didn't mean to hurt him," apologized the somewhat abashed sarah. "what's a ram?"
"his other name is mr. sheep," said richard, handing her half a dozen long black wiry hairs. "and he's old and cross and has been known to butt people. i don't think he'd hurt you, but he might frighten you."
"i wouldn't be afraid," boasted sarah, stuffing her horse hairs carefully into the pocket of her middy blouse. "shirley might, but i wouldn't. shall i bring you a sweet apple, rich?"
"if you find any," he said, swinging the cultivator back into place and clucking to solomon to go ahead. "i can't eat green rocks, you know, and you shouldn't."
sarah, in spite of warnings and orders, insisted on trying to eat everything in the shape of an apple that tumbled to the ground under the orchard trees. no fruit was too green for her palate, no round, bullet-like sphere too hard for her small white teeth.
she crawled through the fence now, waved a farewell to richard, who was well on his way to the corner of the cornfield, and trotted off to search the orchard for spoils.
sarah amused herself without much trouble—"though as much can't be said for the rest of us," winnie had once remarked when sarah's efforts to entertain herself had involved the entire family in explanations with nervous neighbors who objected to tame white mice—and the life at rainbow hill suited her exactly. she not only visited the horses and cows and pigs regularly, made friends with the flock of sheep and claimed to know every fowl in the poultry yard by name and sight, but she had a tender word for every bug, spider and grasshopper she met. little water snakes were sarah's delight and not even the ants and worms were beneath her notice and affection. truly, as doctor hugh said, sarah was certainly intended to live in the country.
"i'd like to see a ram," she said to herself as she scrambled up the bank to the orchard. "i never saw one. it wouldn't do any harm to go around the upper pasture and look in."
but she had a number of things to do in the orchard first. sarah was noted for her thoroughness in whatever she undertook and now her heart was set on finding an apple soft enough for richard gilbert to eat—and just a plain apple for miss sarah willis. alas, mrs. hildreth had been out earlier in the day and had carefully picked up every windfall. she and winnie were adepts at making delicious apple sauce and the first summer apples were scarce enough to be carefully hunted for.
so, though sarah went the rounds of every tree and even shook one or two cautiously (mr. hildreth had intimated that he would "shake" anyone detected trying to knock down green apples or pears and sarah had a wholesome respect for his mandates, so far) but she was forced to go appleless.
"i think i'd better go look at my apple seed i planted," said sarah aloud.
she had borrowed the coal shovel from winnie a few days previous and with much effort and earnestness, had planted a plump seed from an apple in a sunny, open space in the orchard. the apple was exceedingly green, but aside from doubtful fertility, the seed was doomed never to sprout because of the overwhelming curiosity of its small planter. sarah had "looked" at that seed each day since planting it.
"if all these trees didn't grow any faster than my seed," mourned sarah, scratching around in the soil with an oyster shell, the shovel having been confiscated by winnie, "i don't see how people get any apples to eat."
then a large—a very large—black ant hurrying up the trunk of a young pear tree, caught her eye and she stopped to study him. she thought for a moment of writing her name and address on a piece of paper and tying it to him so that at some distant date, say a hundred years ahead, another little girl might find the ant and read that sarah had also known him.
"if a turtle lives sixty years, why can't an ant live a hundred?" sarah asked the black crow who sat on a branch and stared at her. "only, i haven't any paper or pencil or thread to tie it on with—so i'll wait."
with this sensible conclusion she turned her attention to the swing warren had put up for her and shirley on a conveniently low limb of an apple tree. sarah did not swing sedately—she must do that as she did everything else, fast and furiously. she took out the notched board that served as a seat and stood up in the loop, jerking herself forward and backward until she attained the desired speed. swooping down in one of these mad rushes, she caught sight of something moving in the next field.
"there's the ram!" she thought. "i'll go see what he looks like"; and jumping out of the swing she ran over to the wire fence that enclosed the orchard on three sides.
"he doesn't look cross—you're not, are you?" said sarah, addressing the roman-nosed wooly creature that stood gravely regarding her.
the flock of sheep were up at the other end of the field and the ram stood alone. perhaps he had glimpsed the flashing of sarah's frock through the trees as she swung and had come down to see what made the fluttering. sarah was quite enchanted with him and thought he looked lonely.
she dropped to her knees and crawled through the fence, holding back the heavy wire strands with difficulty, and sat down on the grass to pull up her socks, brush her hair out of her eyes and tuck in a handful of gathers at her waistline where her skirt had torn loose from the band.
having made herself neat for the introduction, sarah advanced fearlessly to greet the ram. to her surprise he came toward her with lowered head, and something in his wicked little eyes made her uneasy. the next thing she knew, she felt a terrific impact against her legs and down she went with a thud. she had presence enough of mind to roll over and she kept rolling, in a frantic instinct to get out of the way of that powerful head. dizzy and shaken—for she had fallen heavily—she scrambled to her feet and began to run, the ram coming after her valiantly.
"rosemary! mother! rich—rich! warren!" screamed poor sarah, running as she had never run before, "rich! rich!"
it was warren who heard her and reached her first. he had been working in the tomato field which was near the orchard and he had no horse to consider—richard could not abandon solomon in the middle of the cornfield. warren ran in the direction of the cries and, leaping the dividing fence, came to the rescue. the ram stopped short as soon as he saw him and sarah fled straight into warren's protecting arms.
"there, there, you're all right—you couldn't run like that if you were hurt," he soothed her. "don't cry, sarah—see, here comes your mother; you've frightened her. and winnie, too! look up and smile and wave your hand—don't let your mother be frightened, sarah."
mrs. willis had heard sarah's shrieks and now she was running across the field, winnie imploring her to walk at every step.
"she isn't hurt!" called warren, trying to relieve the mother's anxiety at once. "she's all right, mrs. willis."
and then sarah gained her vocal powers of which, till this minute, she had been deprived. fright and running had taken her breath and she almost choked with the effort to articulate. lifted high in warren's arms, the tears running down her face, sarah managed to put her chief sorrow into words that reached her mother and winnie half way across the pasture and richard just breathlessly rounding the orchard.
"i lost my horse hairs!" screamed sarah.
