Ginger Pye (21 page)

"They chip away a piece here, and a piece there, and soon you have no cave. There are fences around most historic sites so souvenir hunters won't swipe the entire business. Around Plymouth Rock, for
instance. There's a fence around it, and other such places."

"Oh," said the children, glad there was some sensible explanation to fences.

But imagine people chipping away things! What was the matter with people, anyway, that was what they wanted to know. If people didn't go around chipping pieces off caves and rocks and things they could have got into the cave and played pirate and explored it and had a wonderful time.

But then Papa said, so they would not be too disappointed, that he had heard that Judges Cave had caved in anyway. So even if there had not been a fence around it they probably would not have seen much. The great cave was probably no longer really a cave after all. It was lucky the regicides hid when they had or they probably would have had to find a different place to escape from the king's soldiers than this.

Tiredly, they trudged the long way down the Rock to the street where the trolley ran. They did not have to wait long for their trolley and this motorman did not seem to mind a big dog like Duke boarding his car. He made no comments at all. This was a more modern trolley than the one they had come out in, and Jerry and Dick sat together in one side seat with Duke on the floor at their feet, his
tail in the aisle. Papa and Rachel sat opposite them. They had turned their seat back so they could face Mama and Gramma, who had Uncle Bennie on her lap. In this way they could all talk to one another without turning their heads and getting a crick in their necks. They were all very weary and even Uncle Bennie was content to sit on the return trip and not go careening.

Jerry was especially tired and, moreover, he did not feel good. Maybe it was because he was so tired, or because he did not feel good, and because here it was springtime and Ginger had been stolen so long ago, at the beginning of winter. Anyway, for the first time, Jerry began to despair of ever finding his dog.

He didn't tell Dick or Rachel that hope was waning, because he didn't think they knew that he was still searching for Ginger. They didn't know that everywhere he went—up East Rock, up West Rock, all over everywhere, he kept his eyes open for some clue as to Ginger's whereabouts. But he did. And now, where could he look? he asked himself sadly.

Rachel saw how sad Jerry looked. He is thinking about Ginger, she decided and she felt sad herself. She knew that Judges Cave was sort of Jerry's last hope. She and Jerry rarely talked of finding Ginger anymore. When they spoke of him they only always
said, "Remember how Ginger used to do this, or do that? Remember?" they would ask fondly.

Rachel wished now that she could think of some way to help Jerry keep on hoping. She still hoped and he should too. It seemed to Rachel that they had to go on searching for Ginger and never give up searching. They had, at least, to find out what had happened to him. And then Rachel said a silent little prayer.
Help me to help Jerry find Ginger,
she prayed. And then—could it be in answer to her prayer?—the tall short man, Mr. Tuttle, the doer of good deeds, got on their trolley at the corner of Church and Chapel. Wasn't it odd that he should get on their same trolley both going and coming? Rachel believed in signs and omens and she again had the notion, just as this morning, that this good man might be of help in locating Ginger Pye.

She sat there, trembling with excitement because she was going to do such a daring thing as branch out all by herself and solicit the help of this man who, though she knew him, certainly did not know her. At any rate he never said hello or good-bye.

She studied the man in admiration. She thought of his brave deeds. There he had sat, this morning, this doer of good deeds, quietly and not looking alerted, until all of a sudden he had ordered the
trolley stopped and had made the passengers pile out, un-panicstricken. The minute he had got on the trolley he had probably taken a good sniff and he had probably smelled that something was wrong. And he had just sat there sniffing and smelling until he had figured out what. And then he had sprung into action.

How would he be about finding dogs? Rachel wondered. Just fine, she answered herself, the way Sam Doody did.

Of course she could not ask him this second with all the family around. When the family got off the trolley she would find some way of staying on for just a few more blocks and she would talk then to the doer of good deeds. She could not take her eyes off him.

It was a wonderful ride home. Mr. Tuttle stood alerted in his regular spot at the rear of the trolley. But no children jumped on the cow fender. The trolley did not come off the wire, and there was no little smolder or smoke. Furthermore, all the switches seemed to be adjusted and of course there were no Christmas angels around.

This was all a great relief to the tired Pyes who wanted only to get home, now the long day's picnic had ended, and who had groaned slightly at the sight of Mr. Tuttle, not knowing he was in answer to
Rachel's prayer. At the Pyes' corner they all filed off and did not seem to notice that Rachel stayed on. She watched them straggle up the street, dropping blankets and bags and gathering them up, and she laughed to herself thinking how they had not missed her and doubtless imagined she was bringing up the rear.

Now was the time to speak to the alert Mr. Tuttle before the trolley reached his corner. Yes, now was the perfect time to ask the good man's help. With her heart pounding a little she went down the aisle and stood beside him. How to begin? He was sitting on the motorman's little stool, and looked tall.

"Mister," said Rachel.

Mr. Tuttle did not bend his head. He doubtless was studying the scene outside for potential catastrophes.

"Oh, Mr. Tuttle," said Rachel.

The tall short man, and sitting down he was awfully tall, turned his faraway gaze down upon Rachel.

"Are you lost, child?" he asked benignly.

"No, I'm not. My dog is," said Rachel, barging right in.

"Your dog got off at Beam's Place along with the rest of your family."

"That's not my dog."

"Well, if he is a lost dog, he must be turned over to the police. They will endeavor to locate his true owner."

For a moment Rachel was bewildered. Then she said, lurching a bit as the trolley turned a corner, "The dog you saw with us was Dick's dog, not our dog. Dick's dog is not a lost dog. Ours is."

So then this Mr. Tuttle said very wisely, "Your dog is lost, so is not found. But when he's found he'll not be lost."

And then this tall short man stood up. He commanded the motorman to stop. He told the motorman to wait for him. He took Rachel by the hand, helped her off the trolley, stopped the trolley coming the other way, put her on it, told the motorman to let her off at Beam's Place—no fare required, no questions asked—got back on his trolley, and off it went with him, and off Rachel's went with her.

When Rachel recovered from the surprise she said to herself, "That man is more interested in sudden perils than in past ones." Nothing had been gained by staying on the trolley and trying to tell him the story of lost Ginger. But then, nothing had been lost.

She repeated to herself wonderingly, "Your dog is lost so is not found. But when he's found, he'll not be lost." As she got off the trolley and ran home she could not help laughing. It did sound so funny. She bet that would make Jerry laugh. She bet it would.

When Rachel reached home after her unsuccessful encounter with the tall short man she found that she had not been missed. She also found that it was not a good time to tell Jerry what the tall short man had said because Jerry had been put to bed.

"Stick out your tongue," Mama had said to him the minute they got in the house and she had immediately suspected that he had the German measles. Uncle Bennie had been hurried home in the hope that he would not catch them too, and Rachel was permitted to speak to him only from the distance. The nearest she could come to him was her doorway, though she had had real measles once and the German variety a couple of times.

Mama telephoned Dr. Kelly, and Rachel and Jerry made guesses as to whether he would bring the pink or the green medicine. Both tasted awful but the green was worse since it also looked bad. Meanwhile Mama got out a little bottle of Dr. Bing's sugar pills.

There were Dr. Bing pills for all ills. They came in a sweet little bottle with a number on it. All you had to do was select the right number from a little book and give the pills and wait for the cure. Last time that Rachel had had German measles she made such a rapid recovery Mama said, "My. These pills are truly remarkable." Then when Rachel got well and Mama was giving her room a good airing and cleaning out, what did she find but dozens and dozens of the remarkable pills lined up along the baseboard behind the bed. That was what Rachel had done to them instead of swallowing them, she had dropped them behind the bed, for she was suspicious of all pills.

Naturally, since Rachel had got well without them, Mama no longer had quite the faith in the little sugar pills that she used to. But until Dr. Kelly got there with the pink or the green, she felt she was doing something to make Jerry well, giving him the six little pellets. Jerry liked them very well and did not drop them behind the bed.

Jerry was very disgusted to think he would have to spend, perhaps, a whole week in bed. He didn't feel
that
sick, he said. But he did have to and Rachel
racked her brains to think of things to make him happy, especially when it proved to be the green medicine he had to take.

As Jerry lay in bed looking out the window at the huge horse chestnut tree beginning to blossom, he didn't know why but he kept thinking about an old brick lot over on New Dollar Street. This lot was called the brick lot because it was chuck-full of old broken bricks from an old manor house that had once stood over there and had burned down. In this lot there were two huge rocks that were supposed to be meteors. Jerry had heard they were cutting a new street behind that lot. And the thought kept occurring to him that since Ginger, after all, was not to be found in such far and hard places as East Rock or West Rock, he might possibly be hidden in some new house in the new street in back of the houses on New Dollar Street.

He and Rachel had searched on New Dollar Street itself. But they had not investigated the old brick lot, nor the fields behind, nor the place where the new street was being cut.

"Rache," Jerry called out one evening. "What happens to the little brooks when towns grow up, new houses are built, and streets. Where do the little brooks go?"

This was a stumper, this question was, and Rachel did not know.

And Jerry fell to thinking about Ginger again. "Rachel," he said. He had just a little fever and it was at night, when the fever was highest, that he did most of his talking. "Rachel," he said. "Do you think the meteors are still over in the old brick lot?" He didn't bring up about Ginger, he just brought up about the meteors.

Rachel said, "Of course they are. Who could take such big things?"

Jerry said, "The Cranbury Historical Society. I should think they would want such valuable pieces of rock. They're not rock, they're meteors. They are most as big as the ones down at the Museum of Natural History in New York. I wouldn't mind having them here in the backyard to study."

"The Moffats may have got them for their museum."

The Moffats were a family over near Ashbellows Place who had a museum in their barn, "The Moffats' Museum."

"They might have," agreed Jerry. "You must see."

"To be a rock man must you study not only the rock of this earth but the rock of fallen stars too?" asked Rachel, impressed.

"Everything," said Jerry importantly.

"Well, I can't get them for you. They are too big for us even to get together. But I'll go and see if they are still there and tell you."

"Might take a little look around for Ginger over there," said Jerry, trying to sound offhand. "Might be a little house built over there in back of the maple groves that we hadn't heard of. And Ginger might of been there all the time, tied up, waiting for us to come and find him."

"I'll go tomorrow," promised Rachel, and Jerry went to sleep.

Before Rachel fell asleep she thought she might be a better finder of Ginger if she joined the Brownie Scouts as Addie Egan had been urging her to do for some time. She had not joined so far because of the Aurora Borealis. She had gone to one meeting of the Brownie Scouts one cold winter evening. When she came out she found people standing around gaping at the heavens, exclaiming over the glorious spectacle they had witnessed of the Aurora Borealis. It was about over. Rachel should have seen it a few minutes before, said Jerry.

So Rachel had not gone to any more meetings of the Brownie Scouts in case she miss the Aurora Borealis again. Still, now she thought—for she had to think of
something
before going to sleep now