My wife exclaimed against this, but I added:  “Think a moment, my dear.  By good management we have here, safe and in good order, thirty dollars’ worth of fruit, at least.  Shall I lose it because I am afraid of a summer shower?  Facing the weather is a part of my business; and I’d face a storm any day in the year if I could make thirty dollars.”

Merton wished to go also, but I said, “No; there must be no risks of illness that can possibly be avoided.”

I did not find it a dreary expedition, after all, for I solaced myself with thoughts like these, “Thirty dollars, under my wife’s good management, will go far toward providing warm winter clothing, or paying the interest, or something else.”

Then the rain was just what was needed to increase and prolong the yield of the raspberry bushes, on which there were still myriads of immature berries and even blossoms.  Abundant moisture would perfect these into plump fruit; and upon this crop rested our main hope.

CHAPTER XXXVI

A THUNDERBOLT

From the experiences just related, it can be seen how largely the stress and strain of the year centred in the month of July.  Nearly all our garden crops needed attention; the grass of the meadow had to be cured into hay, the currants and cherries to be picked, and fall crops, like winter cabbages, turnips, and celery, to be put in the ground.  Of the latter vegetable, I set out only a few short rows, regarding it as a delicious luxury to which not very much time could be given.

Mr. Jones and Junior, indeed all our neighbors, were working early and late, like ourselves.  Barns were being filled, conical hay-stacks were rising in distant meadows, and every one was busy in gathering nature’s bounty.

We were not able to make much of the Fourth of July.  Bobsey and Winnie had some firecrackers, and, in the evening, Merton and Junior set off a few rockets, and we all said, “Ah!” appreciatively, as they sped their brief fiery course; but the greater part of the day had to be spent in gathering the ripening black-caps and raspberries.  By some management, however, I arranged that Merton and Junior should have a fine swim in the creek, by Brittle Rock, while Mousie, Winnie, and Bobsey waded in sandy shallows, further down the stream.  They all were promised holidays after the fruit season was over, and they submitted to the necessity of almost constant work with fairly good grace.

The results of our labor were cheering.  Our table was supplied with delicious vegetables, which, in the main, it was Mousie’s task to gather and prepare.  The children were as brown as little Indians, and we daily thanked God for health.  Checks from Mr. Bogart came regularly, the fruit bringing a fair price under his good management.  The outlook for the future grew brighter with the beginning of each week; for on Monday he made his returns and sent me the proceeds of the fruit shipped previously.  I was able to pay all outstanding accounts for what had been bought to stock the place, and I also induced Mr. Jones to receive the interest in advance on the mortgage he held.  Then we began to hoard for winter.