Dan Carter And The Money Box Part 17

"Well, you know what I mean," Chips growled. "That's how the bucket is lifted. Let's have a drink."

"Better not," advised Mr. Hatfield. "This water may be safe enough, but we have no way of being sure."

The Cubs raised and lowered the well bucket several times, but did not drink. Dan went over to look at the big iron kettle which in days past evidently had been used for the boiling of apple sauce or maple sirup.

To his surprise, he noted that the ashes beneath the blackened container were faintly warm.

"Say, maybe this place isn't deserted after all!" he exclaimed in alarm.

"Someone's been using this kettle recently."

Babe Bunning, unmindful of Dan's discovery, had pulled a box to a position beneath the kitchen window.

Flattening his nose against the pane, he peered inside.

"And someone's been using this house!" the boy entoned. "In fact, she's right here NOW!"

CHAPTER 10 Widow Jones

In confusion, Babe backed away from the kitchen window.

The other Cubs also were embarra.s.sed, for they had not intended to investigate an occupied dwelling.

"Gee whiz!" Babe muttered. "Here she comes! I'll bet she's sore!"

The kitchen door creaked open and the mysterious "she" stood on the threshold regarding the boys with curiosity rather than anger.

Tall and wiry, the woman appeared to be about fifty years of age. Her iron-gray hair was combed severely back from her ears. The gingham dress she wore was old fas.h.i.+oned and faded from repeated was.h.i.+ng.

"I-I'm sorry," Babe stammered, doffing his cap. "I-I didn't know anyone lived here. The house looked so old and-"

"We were just pa.s.sing and stopped to look at the deep well," Brad interposed hastily. "One doesn't see one like it very often."

"Or a house as run down as this," said the woman.

Plainly she had not taken offense at Babe's remark, for she smiled and said: "You boys must be on a hike."

Mr. Hatfield told her about the organization and introduced the boys by name. In turn, the woman said she was Mrs. Jones, a widow, and that she lived alone.

"If you're Mrs. Jones, you must be the one Mr. Wentworth mentioned!" Dan exclaimed, recalling the name. "Do you board wards of the court?"

"I was supposed to take one-a harum-scarum lad who has a tendency to run away," Mrs. Jones replied. "The Court promised me eight dollars a week to look after him. I need the money. But he never showed up."

"That's because he ran away again," Dan informed the widow. "Police still are looking for him."

"Like as not he wouldn't want to stay here anyway," Mrs. Jones said, her gaze sweeping the untidy yard. "There's so much to be done, and no one to do it except me."

"I should think a st.u.r.dy boy would be a help to you here," remarked Mr.

Hatfield. "And an outdoor life might be just what Jack needs. With a woods and marsh nearby, he could interest himself in wild life which he seems to enjoy."

"That's what Mr. Wentworth thought," nodded the widow. "He said several city boarding places have been tried, and each time Jack runs away."

"The boy needs strict discipline but from someone who has an interest in his welfare."

"I've always liked boys-even so-called bad ones," Mrs. Jones declared.

"Jack would have good food here and a comfortable bed. The house isn't much, but after all, it's what's in it that counts."

The widow, who wore no wrap, was s.h.i.+vering from cold. Aware that they were keeping her, the Cubs started away.

But as they started off, Mr. Hatfield thought to speak of the tramp who had been seen at the group of new houses.

"Since you live here alone, it might be well to lock your doors at night," the Cub leader advised. "While the fellow probably is harmless, one never knows."

Mrs. Jones thanked him for the warning. "I'll do as you advise," she said, "but I've never been afraid. It's not in my blood to be afeared of anyone or anything."

The Cubs apologized again for having trespa.s.sed upon her property.

"Now you boys just come here whenever you like," she invited cordially.

"Next time maybe I'll have some cookies handy in my jar. Growing boys always are hungry. I know, because I had three of 'em. They're grown men now."

A lonely soul, Mrs. Jones would have chatted on and on. The Cubs, however, already were late. So they edged away, waved a final goodbye, and trudged back to the main road.

"That should cure us of peeking into windows," Brad lectured Babe. "She was mighty nice about it, but she could have jumped all over us."

"How was I to know anyone lived there?" Babe defended himself. "You thought yourself the house was empty."

"That's so," Brad admitted honestly. "Mrs. Jones must be as poor as a church mouse. She needs that board money badly."

"And Jack needs someone like Mrs. Jones to take an interest in him,"

added Mr. Hatfield. "She is firm but kind."

"Imagine living in a place like that!" Chips commented with distaste.

"It's a dump."

"The inside is clean and not badly furnished," informed the Cub leader.

"I noticed when she had the door open. As for the outside, the windows could be washed and the rubbish cleaned up in a few hours."

"Say, maybe that's a job for the Cubs!" proposed Brad. "We're supposed to give neighborhood good will. What better way?"

"That yard has a lot of rubbish," Chips said quickly. "It would take more than a few hours-maybe half a day."

"And we're pretty busy soliciting for the church campaign," added Red.

"Not to mention our plans for the Round Table jamboree."

"It was just a suggestion," Brad shrugged. "Only I thought the widow seems to need help."