CHAPTER 4 “Tail-ender”

AT six-thirty the next morning, six sleepy-eyed Brownies were at Miss Gordon’s home, ready to drive to the cherry orchard.

Eileen was the last to arrive. Usually she did not arise until eight o’clock and so felt a little cross.

“I don’t see why we have to get up so early,” she grumbled.

All the girls wore blue jeans instead of dresses, for Miss Gordon had warned them that frocks might be ruined by fruit stains. The Brownie leader had packed enough lunch for everyone, and had filled a thermos jug with hot chocolate.

“All aboard for Pa Hooper’s orchard!” she called, herding the girls into her car. “Time to get started if we’re to arrive there by seven o’clock.”

During the ride to the orchard, the Brownies asked Veve and Connie dozens of questions about the work they were to do. Everyone except Eileen thought it would be great fun.

When Miss Gordon was less than a half mile from Pa Hooper’s place, her car was passed by a truck. Mexican workers were leaning over the high sideboards. Seeing the Brownies, they laughed and shouted, and waved their hands.

“They must be pickers for the Wingate place,” Connie declared. She had glimpsed Juan, the little Mexican boy, among the group.

A few minutes later, the Brownies saw the truck turn in at the orchard.

Miss Gordon drove her own car into Pa Hooper’s place. As the girls tumbled out, they noticed only a few persons picking cherries some distance from the packing shed.

“Well, you did come after all!” Pa Hooper exclaimed, walking over to the group. “I need pickers. Ready to start in?”

“Oh, yes!” Veve agreed. “We want to earn a lot of money.”

The orchard owner laughed and said that would depend entirely upon how steadily the girls kept at their picking.

“It’s easy the first hour,” he declared. “After that—well, we’ll see how you hold up.”

Then and there the Brownies made up their minds that even though the job was hard, they would not give up!

Mr. Hooper led the girls to a group of nearby trees. Each Brownie received a pail and was shown exactly how to strip a branch.

“Pick clean and don’t bruise the fruit,” he instructed. “When your pail is filled, weigh in at the shed.”

The orchard owner told the girls to strip only the lower tree branches. He said he could not risk having them fall from the stepladders, and so would leave the higher picking for older persons.

After Mr. Hooper had gone to the shed, the Brownies fell to work with a will. At first the cherries thudded into the tin pails, making a tinkling sound. Soon the bottoms of the buckets were covered.

“I have almost two inches of cherries in my pail!” Rosemary called after a few minutes.

“Oh, I’m ahead of you,” laughed Jane, who was picking in the next tree.

Hearing the report, Veve began to strip at a faster rate, for she was far behind. She had stopped too often to sample a cherry and to look around.

Seeing a clump of especially large cherries directly overhead, the little girl reached for them. Her hand touched something which was dark-green in color and very slimy.

With a squeal of dismay, Veve pulled back. The pail of cherries nearly dropped from her hand. But she managed to save it.

“O-oh, see this horrid creature on the tree!” she exclaimed. “Ugh! It gives me the creeps.”

The other Brownies and Miss Gordon, who were picking close by, came over to look.

“Why, it’s only a harmless little slug,” the Brownie Scout leader laughed. “One frequently finds them amid the foliage.”

Miss Gordon plucked the leaf which the creature had been eating. Half of the soft leaf tissue had been nibbled away, leaving ribs and veins exposed.

“Orchard owners control slugs by spraying with arsenate of lead,” she told the girls. “Somehow, this fellow escaped.”

“I don’t want to pick on this tree any more,” Veve said.

“’Fraid cat!” teased Sunny Davidson.

“I am not!” Veve denied. “I just don’t like slugs.”

The other girls laughed and told her she would have to stick to her own tree.

Veve went back to work but she kept looking at the foliage before she touched it. She did not see another slug.

When Mr. Hooper presently came to the orchard to see how the Brownies were doing, Veve remarked that she thought the trees needed spraying.

“Why, bless you!” the orchard owner chuckled. “Already they’ve been sprayed four times. I put on one early in the season to control scale insects. Then I sprayed a second time just before the blossoms opened up. Since then the trees have had two extra treatments.”

Veve was amazed that so much work was required to keep the orchard in good condition.

“It’s a never-ending battle,” Mr. Hooper sighed. “One has to fight leaf spot, brown rot and the fruit fly, to mention only a few troubles.”

After the orchard owner had returned to the shed, the Brownies picked steadily for a while.

Then Rosemary shouted that her pail was filled. She was far ahead of the other girls.

“My bucket is full too,” announced Miss Gordon. “Come, Rosemary, shall we be the first to weigh in?”

Everyone began to pick very fast, not wanting to be a tail-ender.

Soon Connie was ready to have her fruit weighed. Jane’s pail next was filled. Both girls were proud to have done so well.

After that, Eileen and Sunny finished their picking in rapid order.

“Veve’s the tail-ender!” teased Jane. She whirled around fast and her jeans caught on a strand of wire attached to the fence.

As the little girl pulled away, she heard a tearing sound. A long jagged hole had been torn in the leg of her almost-new jeans.

“Oh, now see what I’ve done!” she exclaimed. “My knee shows right through!”

“That comes from picking so fast,” declared Veve. Actually, Jane had not been stripping the tree at the moment of the accident.

Near tears, Jane hastened to the shed to show Miss Gordon the torn place. Veve followed her, although her pail was not quite filled.

In the shed, Pa Hooper had just finished weighing in the cherries and noting down the amount on cards.

When he saw Veve’s pail, he shook his head. “Only three-quarters filled?” he asked. “Now, it’s a waste of time to weigh in less than a full pail.”

“Mine will be full next time,” Veve assured him. She really meant it too.

Miss Gordon told Jane she would sew up the tear in the jeans during the lunch hour.

“I have a sewing kit in my car,” she said. “Also a first aid kit. But I hope and trust we’ll not need the latter.”

“Will it soon be lunch time?” Rosemary asked. Already she was growing hungry.

“Why, we’ve scarcely started to pick,” laughed Miss Gordon.

After Pa Hooper had weighed all the fruit, the Brownies returned to their posts. Soon their arms began to ache from reaching up into the branches. And as the sun rose higher and higher, they became very warm.

However, the Brownies were good sports and not afraid of hard work. No one wanted to be the first to complain or quit, so they all kept on. But everyone, even Miss Gordon, picked at a slower pace.

Veve became very thirsty. Now and then she would eat a cherry or two.

“No wonder you can’t keep up with the rest of us,” Connie scolded her. “You stop so often to eat.”

Veve knew she deserved the lecture, for she found it hard to keep her mind on work. She liked to watch the other pickers and to glance now and then over into the Wingate orchard to see what was going on there.

By eleven-thirty the Brownies were so hungry they declared they were nearly famished. They were certain they could not wait another minute for lunch.

“We’ll weigh in and open up the hamper,” Miss Gordon decided. “My! I wonder if I packed enough lunch?”

All of the Brownies except Veve quickly went to the shed to have their cherries weighed.

“Coming, Veve?” asked Miss Gordon.

“In a minute,” the little girl answered. She did not have many cherries in her pail and was ashamed to have either the Brownies or Mr. Hooper see how poorly she had done.

While the others were in the shed, Veve picked as fast as she could. Even so, her bucket was not half filled.

She was still working when the girls trooped out of the shed again.

“Do come along, Veve!” Miss Gordon called. “We’re having our lunch now.”

Veve climbed down from the stepladder and walked slowly toward the shed. The Brownies already were at the car, removing the lunch hamper and thermos jug. They planned to eat under a shady oak in the front yard.

“Hurry up, slow-poke!” Jane shouted. “You won’t get anything to eat if you don’t.”

Without going to the shed, Veve covered her pail with a handkerchief, and joined her friends.

“Haven’t you weighed in your cherries?” Connie asked her as she helped to spread a tablecloth under the oak tree.

“I’ll do it later,” Veve mumbled. She knew Pa Hooper would not accept a half bucket of cherries. He had told her twice to fill the container to the brim before bringing it in.

“It doesn’t matter how many cherries anyone picked,” said Miss Gordon quickly. “The important thing is we’re doing useful work and earning money for our troop.”

“How much have we earned already?” Eileen asked eagerly.

Miss Gordon said she had not kept accurate account, but she was certain it amounted to several dollars.

The morning work had made the girls very hungry. Although the Brownie leader had prepared two sandwiches for each person, it did not seem enough. Veve bolted hers in a twinkling and so did Sunny. The chocolate disappeared equally fast.

“Oh, dear, I’m still hungry,” moaned Sunny. “I could eat anything—anything, that is, except cherries.”

Her remark made Veve think of a little joke. “What’s worse than biting into a worm?” she asked the Brownies.

“What could be worse?” demanded Connie.

“Biting into half a worm!”

The Brownies did not laugh very hard at Veve’s joke. During the morning picking, nearly everyone had bitten into at least one worm. It had not been a pleasant experience.

“I’m so hungry, I could even go for a worm,” added Veve, just to make the girls shudder. “Say, whose car is that?”

She had noticed a familiar blue sedan turning into the driveway.

“Why, that’s our car!” cried Connie, leaping to her feet. “It’s Mother!”

Now the Brownies were very surprised and pleased to see Mrs. Williams. Eagerly, they swarmed about the car.

“Having fun?” Connie’s mother asked.

“Oh, yes!” the girls told her. They really were, too.

Connie had spied two large covered baskets on the back seat of the automobile.

“What are in these?” she demanded.

“Oh, those!” smiled her mother. “I thought the girls might want a little more lunch. I baked a cake and made potato salad. But if you’ve already had too much, I can take them home.”

The Brownies all hooted in protest at such a proposal.

“You leave those baskets right here!” laughed Connie.

“I should say so!” echoed Eileen.

“I could eat an entire cake myself,” added Jane.

The Brownies carried the baskets to the big oak tree. There, upon the tablecloth, they spread out an array of delicious looking food.

Besides cake and salad, Mrs. Williams also had brought cheese and pickles.

Veve helped herself to a large piece of cake.

“I’m thirsty,” she announced when she had finished the last crumb.

The thermos bottles were empty. Veve thought she would try to find a pump.

“There’s one back of the shed,” Miss Gordon told her. “The water, though, tastes of mineral. You’ll find better water at the spring.”

“And where is that, Miss Gordon?”

“Only fifty feet from the entrance gate. Just follow the road.” The Brownie leader pointed out the direction.

Not wishing the other girls to see the contents of her cherry pail, Veve carried it with her.

After she had trudged a short distance along the dusty road, she found the spring. A cool stream of water flowed out of a small pipe.

But someone was there ahead of Veve.

She saw at once that it was Juan, the little Mexican boy.

He had been washing his hands under the stream of water piped from the hillside. One of them seemed to be scratched, for it was bleeding.

“Why, what’s the matter?” Veve asked anxiously.

Juan glanced up and grinned, his lips parting to show a double row of even, white teeth.

“Nothing, Senorita,” he replied. His tone was most polite.

Veve felt quite grownup to be called a senorita, which she knew was a Mexican word for “Miss.” It worried her, though, to see that Juan’s hand had been deeply scratched and bruised.

“How did you hurt your hand?” she asked.

“Wingate.” Juan answered briefly.

Veve was horrified. “You mean he cut you?” she gasped.

“No, Senorita. He shoved me and I stumbled into the wire fence.”

“Oh, Juan! How could he be so mean?”

The Mexican boy shrugged his thin shoulders. “Wingate has an evil temper. He treats all of his pickers mean—but he hates me worse than the others. Often he beats me.”

“I know! I saw him strike you with a stick only yesterday. Why do you work for him?”

“The pickers have a contract,” Juan explained. But he added darkly, “We may break it. Si! If we leave before the fruit is harvested, then he will be sorry!”

“I should think so,” agreed Veve soberly. “Juan, wait here! I am going to get Miss Gordon’s first aid kit and wrap up your hand.”

She ran to the car for the materials she needed—cotton, gauze, iodine and tape. Returning to the spring, she dressed the cut as Miss Gordon had shown the Brownies how to do, and taped on the bandage.

The finished job did not look too neat, but Juan said it was fine and made his hand feel better. He seemed very grateful.

“How do you like stripping cherries?” he inquired. “Does the orchard owner beat you if you damage the fruit?”

“Oh, no! Mr. Hooper is very nice. All the Brownies like him.”

Juan had glanced at Veve’s nearly empty pail. “How many pounds a day can you pick?” he asked.

“I’ve filled my bucket almost three times this morning.”

Juan did not say anything, but from the way he smiled, Veve knew he did not think she had picked very many cherries.

“Here,” he said, a moment later.

Before Veve could prevent it, he picked up his own filled bucket and dumped cherries into hers until it was ready to overflow.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have done that!” she exclaimed. “Mr Wingate won’t like it.”

“Who cares for that old goat?” scoffed Juan. “He has no friends. Hooper, his own relative, dislikes him—and for good reason too. Si!”

“Are Hooper and Wingate relatives?” Veve asked in astonishment.

Before Juan could answer, he heard his name angrily called. Mr. Wingate stood at the entrance to the orchard, gazing toward the spring.

“You, Juan!” he shouted. “Stop loafing, and get back to work!”

“Si, Senor,” the little Mexican boy muttered. Picking up his nearly empty pail, he smiled again at Veve, and ambled up the road.

Back at the Hooper orchard, the Brownies had finished their lunch and were ready to resume their picking.

“Where’s Veve?” Jane demanded impatiently. “She’s always late. She hasn’t even weighed in her last picking.”

“That’s because she didn’t have enough cherries to turn in,” said Eileen.

Veve came up to the oak tree just in time to hear the last remark.

“Who says I haven’t any cherries?” she demanded, offering her pail in proof. “Full to the brim!”

The Brownies were amazed. They had been so certain that Veve’s bucket was nearly empty.

“How did you get so many cherries so quickly?”

Connie asked suspiciously. “When I last saw your pail—”

“Oh, I’m a fast picker,” laughed Veve. Then, because she knew a Brownie had to be honest, she added: “Well, maybe I had some help!”

The girls plied her with questions. Finally, after she had tantalized them, Veve told about her meeting with the Mexican boy.

“One can’t blame the Mexican pickers for thinking of leaving if they are mistreated,” remarked Miss Gordon when she heard Juan’s conversation repeated. “However, I hope they don’t. If the pickers should go away from the area before the fruit is marketed, it would be most serious for all of the orchard owners.”

The Brownies now were well fed, rested, and ready to return to their work. Connie’s mother was sorry she had not worn old clothes so that she too might help.

“Perhaps I’ll come again tomorrow,” she declared. “That is, if it doesn’t rain.”

The sky had become slightly overcast. Although it did not look as if it would rain very soon, a storm appeared in the offing.

While the other Brownies returned to their trees, Veve went to the shed to have her cherries weighed.

“You did very well,” Pa Hooper praised as he marked the poundage on her card. “Guess you’re finally getting the trick of it.”

Veve flushed and decided then and there that during the afternoon she would keep her mind on her work.

“Oh, Mr. Hooper,” she said suddenly. “Is Carl Wingate any relation to you?”

The orchard owner nearly dropped the lug of fruit he was carrying out to load into a truck.

“What made you ask that?” he demanded. He did not seem very pleased by the question.

“I just wondered.”

“Someone put you up to it! Carl Wingate is my cousin. Now get back to your picking and don’t be pestering me with questions.”

Pa Hooper spoke almost crossly. Veve could not understand why her question had annoyed him. She remembered though, that Juan had said something about the orchard owner disliking Carl Wingate.

She meant to learn more about it before the Brownies were through with the cherry picking. However, she would have to bide her time. Pa Hooper, she could plainly see, had no intention of revealing any secrets.