“Good morning,” he called, bowing and smiling. “Good morning Mrs. Murray, good morning folks! Mighty fine weather we’re having.”
The Murrays laughed and waved and called out to him.
“He has a gold mine in that little old chicken coop of his,” said Mom. “He came down here last night with another stack of letters. Daddy figured that the stamps on them should be worth about six hundred dollars, and he found a certificate of stock that might still be sold for a tidy little sum.”
“Oh, Mom,” said Janie. “Do you suppose he’ll move back into the big house and fix it all up again the way it used to be?”
“No, I don’t think he ever would. He’s an old man now, and he’s content to leave things pretty much as they are. I hope he’ll clean up that shack of his. He didn’t say anything about that, although he did speak of having a vacation.” Billy sat on one stone post and Janie sat on the other. “Doesn’t he look grand Bill?” asked Janie as they admired the retreating procession. “He turned out to be quite nice after all. Do you remember how we used to run at the sight of him? I used to shiver at the very mention of his name, and all the time he was just a harmless old man.” Billy smiled and shook his head.
“It’s funny,” he said, “how just being kind to a person will improve his disposition. I wonder what he’ll give Daddy for a present.”
“Billy,” Jane exclaimed. “It isn’t polite to wonder what people are going to give you for a present, and besides, it will probably be a stamp. He must know that Daddy is just crazy about stamps, even if he doesn’t collect any more.”
Billy shaded his eyes as he looked across the road. “Yes,” he said. “It will probably be a stamp. What’s that moving under the little cottage?” He jumped off the post and ran. “Queenie is out again. That’s the second time this week she got out.”
“Better catch her in a hurry,” called Jane. “The last time she got out she ate Mr. Landry’s petunias, and Mom said the next time we’d have fried rabbit.”
“Murder,” growled Bill. “She gets in there under the foundation, and I can’t get in after her, then the minute I go away she’ll come out and run away.”
“Come on, Queenie,” called Jane. “Better to be in your cage than in the frying pan.”
