CHAPTER 8 Duck’s Foot in the Mud

AT first, the Brownies did not mind waiting in line. They sang songs and played one of their favorite games.

Connie started it by saying: “I see something green which begins with the letter ‘P.’ What is it?”

“A tree!” cried Eileen before she stopped to think.

“A tree doesn’t start with the letter ‘P,’” Connie reminded her.

“Paint!” guessed Sunny Davidson, stretching a cramped arm. “Green paint on that truck just ahead!”

“That’s a good guess, but you aren’t right,” laughed Connie. “I’ll give you a tiny hint. The object I’m thinking about is over in that field to the right.”

All the Brownies glanced toward the truck garden where many green things were growing.

“Potatoes!” cried Veve. “Green potato plants!”

“That’s right,” agreed Connie. “Now it’s your turn.”

Veve looked quickly about for an object. On the opposite side of the road, a washing hung on a line. The little girl noticed a blue shirt flapping in the breeze.

“I see something which starts with the letter ‘S’—” she began, and then broke off.

She had seen another object even more interesting. Also on the line hung a red and white patterned quilt. Even from so far away Veve could see that it was a most unusual design.

“Oh, I see a quilt!” she cried.

“You’re not supposed to tell,” Jane chided her. “And quilt doesn’t start with ‘S.’”

“I’m not playing that game any more,” Veve announced. She was thinking hard. “I have an idea.”

“You and your ideas!” scoffed Jane.

Veve, however, did not hear. She nudged the truck driver.

“Bill, how long will we have to stay here?”

“Hard to tell,” he replied. “Something seems to be holding up the trucks at the cannery. They’re not moving up very fast.”

“Will we be here ten minutes?”

“We might. Then again we might not.”

“I can make it,” Veve declared and started to scramble over the high sideboard of the truck.

Jane clutched her by the seat of her jeans.

“Hey, you! Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded.

“After that quilt.” Veve pulled free and leaped lightly to the pavement. “I’m going to ask if I may have it for our Brownie show.”

“You’ll be left behind!”

“It won’t take me but a minute,” Veve insisted. “May I go, Miss Gordon?”

“Are you certain you won’t take longer than ten minutes?”

“I’m sure I can make it! Oh, please let me inquire about the quilt.”

“Run fast then,” the Brownie leader urged. “If the trucks ahead move on, we will have to pull up too to keep our place in line.”

“I can catch up,” Veve insisted. “The trucks only move a few feet at a time.”

Before Miss Gordon could offer another objection, she darted off to the farmhouse.

Good luck was with Veve. As she entered the yard, she saw a stout woman in a pink checked gingham dress hanging up another basket of clothes.

“Good morning,” Veve gasped. She was quite out of breath from running.

“Good morning, my dear,” returned the lady, taking clothes pins from her mouth. “Have I ever seen you before?”

“I don’t think so. You see, I just jumped out of that cherry truck. I wanted to ask about your beautiful quilt.”

As she spoke, Veve glanced over her shoulder toward the road. To her dismay, she saw that the truck already had moved a few feet ahead. She would have to talk fast unless she wanted to be left behind.

“It is a lovely quilt,” said the lady. “I believe the pattern is called ‘Duck’s Foot in the Mud.’ The pieced blocks do resemble the imprint of a duck’s webbed foot.”

“Oh, yes,” agreed Veve, scarcely heeding what the woman said. “The quilt would look simply gorgeous in our Brownie quilt show. Would you—would you please let me borrow it for the display? I’d take the very best care of it.”

The lady smiled because the little girl seemed so worried and earnest.

“Why, I’d love to let you have the quilt for a display,” she said. “Only I can’t.”

“You can’t?” Veve quavered.

“No. You see, the quilt isn’t mine to offer.”

“But I thought—”

“You saw it hanging on the line and assumed I owned it? No, I merely am washing the quilt for another lady. She lives a long distance from here too.”

“Oh!” Veve’s face, which had been very bright, now became as dreary as a rainy day. “Then of course you couldn’t let me have it. Oh, dear! I’ll always be a tail-ender, I guess. You—you don’t own a single quilt of your own?”

“No, I’ve always used blankets.”

The lady very much wanted to help Veve. However, she did not know how to do it.

“Mrs. Gwinn on Seventeenth St. owns the ‘Duck’s Foot in the Mud’ quilt,” she said. “I could telephone her, but I am afraid she would not want anyone to borrow her quilt. Of all the folks for whom I wash, she is my fussiest customer.”

“I guess I will just have to go without a quilt,” Veve said, deeply discouraged. “Well, thank you just the same.”

The little girl started away.

“Wait!” the lady called her back. “Come to think of it, I do have a quilt!”

“Oh, grand!” exclaimed Veve, scarcely believing her good fortune.

“On second thought, I’m afraid you wouldn’t want it for your exhibit. You see, it’s a very old quilt—but not in the least fancy.”

“That doesn’t matter. Just so it’s a quilt. That’s all that counts.”

“Wait here,” the lady instructed. “I’ll show it to you.”

She disappeared into the house. A few minutes later, she was back again with the quilt.

Even though Veve had not expected an elegant coverlet, it was hard for her not to show her disappointment. The quilt was faded and never had been made of very pretty colors. In general appearance it resembled the Brownies’ crazy quilt. However, it was not half so pretty.

“You see, it isn’t much,” the lady apologized. “It was given to me years ago, by a lady now dead. But if you can use it, take it along. You needn’t bother to bring it back as I never use it any more.”

“You mean it’s mine to keep?”

“Yes, dear, if you think you can use it. I’m sorry I haven’t a nicer quilt to offer.”

“Oh, I can use this one,” Veve assured her. “Yes, indeed!”

The pleasant lady offered to wrap up the coverlet, but there was no time.

Already the long line of cherry-laden trucks had started to move slowly ahead.

From the roadway, Miss Gordon and the Brownies waved their arms and shouted for Veve to hurry.

“Never mind wrapping the quilt,” the little girl said nervously. “I’ll take it just as it is. Thanks a million!”

“You’re welcome, I’m sure,” the lady smiled. “Do come and see me again sometime when you have more time. Who knows? I might have a few spare sugar cookies in my jar.”

“I’ll come,” Veve promised. She really meant it too.

Starting off at a run, she called over her shoulder, “You must come to our Brownie quilt show! I’ll let you know the day later.”

The quilt tucked under her arm, the little girl raced for the road. In her haste, she ran through a mud puddle and caked both shoes. But she could not stop to clean them.

Bill Flint and the Brownies had waited for her, even though the other truck drivers did not like it very well. The trucks ahead had moved up, leaving a long gap of roadway.

Behind the Brownie truck, drivers were tooting their horns impatiently. They wanted Bill Flint to pull on ahead.

“Hurry! Hurry!” the Brownies called to Veve.

She leaped a little ditch and reached the side of the truck, quite breathless.

Reaching down, the Brownies hauled her, quilt and all, over the side.

Bill Flint started ahead an instant later. The thunder of the big truck engine was so loud for several minutes that Veve could not make herself heard.

Soon, however, the truck had caught up with those ahead. Then it slowed to a standstill again.

“Veve McGuire! You nearly gave us heart failure!” Jane accused crossly. “You stayed and stayed at that house on the hill, and paid no attention when we yelled for you to come!”

“I ran as fast as I could. Anyway, I got a quilt.”

“Let’s see it,” Sunny urged. “Is it real pretty?”

Veve was careful not to answer the question. She spread the quilt out for the girls to see.

In the bright sunlight, the coverlet looked even more faded than at first sight. The right hand corner bore an ugly brown stain. One of the edges was frayed.

For a moment, the Brownies merely gazed at the quilt. No one said a word.

Then Jane, always outspoken, found her tongue.

“You call that a quilt?” Her tone was most scornful.

“It is a quilt!” Veve said, her eyes flashing. “The nice lady said so! Furthermore, she didn’t just loan me the coverlet. She gave it to me!”

“And no wonder!” went on Jane. “It’s not worth a thing! Why, I bet a dog used it for a bed!”

“That’s not so,” Veve retorted. She was becoming angry now as well as hurt. “It’s a good quilt and I like it!”

“Maybe you can find a better one before the show,” Sunny interposed. “One that’s not so faded.”

Veve started to reply, but words would not come. Instead, a salty tear trickled down her nose.

In the front seat of the truck, Miss Gordon had turned around to see what was wrong.

“May I see your quilt, Veve?” she asked kindly.

The little girl nodded and handed it over in a lumpy roll. She felt ashamed of the quilt now, and wished that she never had accepted it even as a gift. The girls never would get over teasing her!

Miss Gordon examined the quilt for a moment without comment. Jane and Eileen openly tittered.

“Why, Veve!” the Brownie leader said unexpectedly. “What a lovely old quilt! It’s the only one of its type we have for our show.”

The tears stopped trickling down Veve’s nose. She did not trust herself to answer. Did Miss Gordon really like the quilt or was she only trying to be kind?

“The quilt’s old enough!” giggled Jane. “It must have come over in the Ark!”

Miss Gordon gazed at the little girl most severely.

“Jane, I’m afraid you’re not a very good judge of quilts,” she said. “One can’t always judge by the brightness of the colors, you know.”

“Is the quilt really good enough to be in our exhibit?” Veve asked, taking hope.

“Indeed, it is. Girls, this is an excellent example of the autograph patch!”

The Brownie leader explained that in an autograph patch quilt, each block was made by a different person who signed her name or stitched it in.

“This quilt has dozens of names and the dates when the blocks were made,” she pointed out. “See, some are in cross-stitch. Others have been written with indelible pencil or ink.”

“Then I did find a good quilt!” announced Veve triumphantly.

“You certainly did,” agreed Miss Gordon.

Carefully she folded the coverlet as if it were very precious. “You’ve found more than a quilt, Veve,” she said. “You’re now the owner of a possession which takes on historical importance!”