Patrick’s recent bereavement and the bad weather decided Philip to postpone the promised excursion. To console the disappointed boys he arranged for a group meeting on the last Saturday of the holidays. Patrick arrived a little before the appointed time. Ralph announced his coming with a veritable storm of barking, arousing all the farm.
“Philip,” cried the boy, struggling to free himself from the demonstrations of his faithful friend, “can I see you alone for a few minutes? I have so many things to tell you. Is it convenient?”
“Friends never arrive too soon,” said the young farmer; “come with me, I still have to go around to the barn.”
Patrick’s eyes shone with excitement. “Do you know that I have brought with me $150?”
“Is it possible? Have you earned all that at the yard?”
“Yes; but I haven’t told you yet that instead of unloading bricks, I’ve been keeping the accounts and doing drawings for the architect. It was thrilling! I was sorry to leave him this morning, but he has promised to take me back next summer. He is very keen for me to get on with science and to try and get into the Technical College. It seems that I could win a scholarship if I pass well enough. Now I have an aim in view, it won’t be so hard to work at the subjects that I don’t like. Since Dad has died, Mother will depend on me. I have no right to waste any time now.”
“Bravo, Patrick!” cried Philip enthusiastically. “I am proud of you!”
“Don’t say that, Philip; it is all owing to you. You know I’ve truly experienced what you read to us last time: ‘All things work together’ - how does it go on?”
“That’s it: even though, you know, I don’t love Him yet as much as I ought.”
“Neither do I, Patrick. Our love for Him is so very weak. It withers quickly if He Himself does not water it in our hearts.”
The two friends entered the dim barn.
“Hello!” cried a voice that seemed to come out of the ground. “Come and see the tractor!” Cyril, lying between the four wheels, turned his head towards them. Charlie and Andrew, their hands black and oily, proudly contemplated their handiwork. “What do you think of it, Patrick? It’s got a new look, eh?”
“Marvelous!” said the boy, bending down to admire the rejuvenated tractor.
“It’s such fascinating work that we wouldn’t mind starting all over again. Cyril has taught us a lot, and his friend gave us some super gadgets.”
“All we need now is to find a purchaser,” said Cyril, as he emerged.
“No need to put an ad in the paper,” sounded the pleasant voice of Mr. Berger; “the buyer is myself!”
The boys exchanged eloquent glances. “After all you have done for us,” said Cyril, “we can’t let you pay anything. Please accept it as a thank-offering.”
“Not on your life! You’ve spent more than $150 on materials; you had to put new tires on and rebuild part of the engine. Don’t think that I shall enrich myself at your expense, and I need another tractor. I’ll have it valued and give you the price fixed; about $250, I suppose.”
“The cash box will explode!” cried Bob, just arriving with John Garnier.
The calculation of their funds was highly satisfactory. Counting in advance the approximate price of the tractor, they reached the gratifying sum of $260!
“Mine is a meager contribution,” sighed John, putting down $6; “the coaching doesn’t yield much during holidays, and Dad wanted me to help in the garden and work on my Greek essay. I may get a prize, but have to wait some time. Still, I have an idea to submit. Mother is planning a rummage sale to be held at our house. My brothers and sisters talk of nothing else. They have colored Bible texts which I have framed. My little crippled sister embroiders; and I have carved some little animals; here’s a sample one!”
Cries of admiration resounded at the sight of a graceful squirrel in the act of nibbling a nut. “You’re quite an artist! Who’d have thought that old John, the scholar, possessed such talent? I thought you were only good for study,” said Charlie in a tone that showed too plainly his estimation of intellectual gifts!
“It’s a fine idea, my dear fellow,” approved Philip. “What a grand bunch of helpers! We’re going to amass gold by the shovelful! Anyone else with an idea for that sale?”
“I’m not in the least gifted in sculpture or embroidery,” remarked Cyril, leaning back on the settee; “you must leave me to mechanics.”
“Could we make a doll’s house?” suggested Patrick; “I’ll draw the plans.”
“Agreed!” said John, “I have a saw and will take charge of the woodwork. I saw in the cellar some old boxes which will be just right for it.”
“I’m at your service for installing the electricity,” and Charlie’s eyes shone in anticipation.
“Give me the floral decorations!” said Bob.
“You must all come to my house. My young brothers will like watching you work, and we’ll need a few girls to do the soft furnishing.”
“You’ll all be relapsing to childhood,” cried Cyril; “don’t try to tear me away from my mechanical work. Anyway, I count on Charlie and Andrew, who are showing great talent for mechanics. And besides, I have more news to tell you. Yesterday, my boss told me that he wants to sell his car - a minivan like Mr. Mollett’s. I’ve already asked him how much he wants for it and explained why I wanted to know. ‘It’s three years old,’ he told me, ‘and hasn’t traveled more than 40,000 Km. It’s a good van. With a few repairs it would be like new. I’d like to get $900, but if you’ll take on some little jobs after work, I’ll make a reduction for you.’”
“It’s too expensive!” sighed Bob; “we’ll never figure out how to earn so much. We must find a dealer who has a cheaper one.”
“If we do, it won’t be worth having!” declared Cyril, decisively. “We ought to get a good one, if we get one at all.”
“Here’s some encouragement,” said Patrick, drawing from his pocket a crumpled paper; “a letter from Simon; I’ll read you the end part. `I wrote to my parents about another minivan for Mr. Mollett. By giving up my riding lessons, I’ve reduced my bills, so as to join in your effort. Go to my father, with Philip Berger, and he’ll give you $60 for my share. More than this, as I was one of the most responsible of the gang, they want to give you $150 extra! If my report is good, Dad will let me come home at the end of the year. I try not to play too many stupid tricks, as I’m dying to join you all again. I’m on the way to becoming angelic; you won’t recognize me!’ ”
“Simon angelic!” The reading was interrupted by shouts of laughter. Patrick continued; “ ‘Only think; I resisted the fellows who urged me to balance an inkpot on the door before the professor came in. They were so mad because I wouldn’t do it, that it was I who got it on my head next day! You can imagine the time it took me to get clean. I don’t mind being black as a sweep outside if I’ve a clear conscience! To all the members, and you specially, a big handshake, Yours, Simon - not too much of a vandal.’ ”
“We’re missing that jolly old fellow!” declared Cyril; “the group will be perfect when he’s back.”
The sun, like a ball of fire, half-hidden behind the blue outline of the mountains, was throwing a rose-colored light over the countryside which seemed preparing for sleep. John and Patrick got up.
“Time to go home already! Time passes too quickly at Fairfields.”
“You are forbidden to go at present!” said the cheery voice of Mr. Berger, whose kindly face wore its broadest smile. “My wife has prepared us some cakes and cheese tarts which no one can resist. We are celebrating today the end of harvest and Claud’s return, and the more the merrier!”
Soon the farmer and his wife, surrounded by ten boys with voracious appetites and in the highest spirits, sat in front of a row of huge golden-brown pies. When these had disappeared, Mrs. Berger reappeared with apple tarts of such a size that even Bob could scarcely finish his second slice. After supper, while the boys were happily helping wash up, the farmer set them a challenge.
“I’d like to ask you a question,” he began with twinkling eyes. “You’ve worked desperately hard this summer; all your spare time was filled up. Patrick hasn’t known one day of vacation. Charlie and Andrew went to bed each night dead tired after working many hours in the fields; Cyril scarcely got in from the garage before he became immersed in his tractor or in farm work. Neither John nor Bob had an idle moment. Now tell me frankly; do you regret it? Is this summer a miserable one to look back on?”
“No, no!” cried his audience all together.
“It’s true that our group could be renamed ‘The Pluggers’,” declared Cyril laughing; “it was a terrific experience; I’ll never regret it.”
“And why? Well, it is because you all have realized that working together for a good cause gives more satisfaction than practical jokes and fun; isn’t it so?”
“And Philip knew how to lead us and give us the impulse,” put in Patrick; “what would we have done without him?”
“And what could I do without you?” retorted Philip, smiling.
“Let me quote you some words of the great Apostle Paul,” went on Mr. Berger, taking from the shelf the big family Bible. “When leaving some friends whom he might never see again, he said: “These hands have ministered unto my necessities, and to them that were with me. I have showed you all things, how that so laboring ye ought to support the weak, and to remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how He said, ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive’ ” (Acts 20:34-3534Yea, ye yourselves know, that these hands have ministered unto my necessities, and to them that were with me. 35I have showed you all things, how that so laboring ye ought to support the weak, and to remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, It is more blessed to give than to receive. (Acts 20:34‑35)).