Hard times of drought and depression ground on, crumbling the resources and even the reason of many. In the early spring, Mrs. Hillman reminded her husband of his vague “promise” to let her raise some chickens.
“Well, I’ll have to fix up the chicken house with brooder and such. I reckon I kin spare a little money; and time – that’s no problem. We’ll try maybe five hundred.”
“Five hundred baby chicks!” Mary Jane bubbled.
“They’ll spell some work now. Not just playin’ away the hours while Mamma does the running for ‘em. You’ll help now?” Daddy looked stern.
And help she did. It was never too hard. Mary Jane spent literally hours in the warm cozy brooder house with the soft balls of fluff. If one fell sick, she begged Mamma to let her care for it “special.”
Once when Clara was home for a visit, she called in vain for her little sister.
“Oh, look in the brooder house,” Ellen answered disgustedly. “She can’t stay out of that dusty, smelly place. It’s a good thing Mamma dusts ‘em for lice. Because Mary Jane would be sure to have ‘em!”
Ellen was a wee bit jealous of her former constant companion’s new love.
Clara had mellowed greatly since being away from home, but some of the old glint returned to her eyes as she opened the brooder house door. “Up to yer old tricks, eh, Mary Jane? Used to have to yank the books away to get any work out of you. Now it’s chicks!” Her eyes softened as she looked about. “Oh, aren’t they cute little rascals! Look at ‘em cuddle on your foot. Hey! You meany over there! Quit fighting your poor little sister!”
And Clara forgot what she came for. They enjoyed the chicks together for a while.
“You sure are lucky to get to stay home. This old world isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. Oh, you earn a little money. Say, by the way, what size shoes do you wear?”
Mary Jane did not withhold the information. Clara had proved most generous.
The fun diminished as the chicks feathered out and it came time for the fryers to go the way of – fryers. The pullets began laying darling little eggs.
It was about this period in the chicken venture that a great commotion came from the direction of the chicken house one morning. Such “cut-cut-a-ducts!” and flurry of wings. Mamma hurried out with Mary Jane close on her heels.
“Honey, quick! It’s a big rat! Get Spike and I’ll try to keep him here!” It happened that his entrance had been effected near where Mrs. Hillman stood, so that the rat did not dare to escape. Almost within seconds, good old Spike was on the spot. Stepping aside they let the dog take over. Frantic chickens scattered in all directions, one being almost run down as the dog lurched for the hateful rat. He made for the exit and slithered out. But Spike kept his cool, darted out the door and was soon hot on his trail. Mamma had grabbed a large stick and she and Mary Jane ran to cut off escape. Seeing he was cornered, the rat ( who measured ten inches from nose to tail) turned and bared his long yellow front teeth, ready to fight to the death. Spike knew no fear. With magnificent valor, he dived for the rat. Quick, deadly fangs snapped through the thick of Spike’s upper lip. Neither released his hold until Spike had shaken and bitten the life from his foe.
Tenderly they attempted to treat the vicious lip wound. But Spike was frantic to get away. Why? Did he smell another rat?
The dear old dog just ran a piece aside and “lost all his biscuits.” How repulsive the rat had been to him!
“Dear old Spike! We don’t blame you one bit!” Mary Jane crooned. Spike rolled adoring, sad eyes to hers and licked his sore lip. “And I forgive you for every time you deserted me to hunt rabbits.” Again eyes eloquent with appreciation.
Daddy petted and loved the old dog a long time that evening.
“Now, that’s what you call ‘eschewin evil,’ Mary Jane. Spike not only fought the evil one, but he hated it with all his might. Trouble is, all evil don’t come at the Christian with bared teeth. It can look smooth and purty, but ought to be hated as robbers of our food and growth in Christ.”
Mary Jane’s mind flashed to some of her habits. Yes, robbers, but smooth. Did she hate them?
A great calamity occurred soon after this. Spike had run out to bark at a wagon of people going to take lignite coal from the canyon south of the Hillman’s farm. One of these persons cruelly shot and wounded dear old Spike. He crept home and died in the bosom of his family that night.
Real anger flashed from Daddy’s eyes as he paced the floor, battling with the flesh within. These men were taking coal that was not theirs to take. Yet, because of the poverty of many, no one had hindered them. And now this cruel deed! The children grieved and spoke some pretty un-Christian words among themselves. But the night passed and since there was no bringing the dog back anyway, the matter was dropped.
No eye was dry as they buried their old friend in a lonely, grassy spot near the house.