The Box-Car Children

  Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net fromscans obtained from the University of Florida.

  THE BOX-CAR CHILDREN

  _By Gertrude Chandler Warner_

  _Author of "Star Stories For Little Folks" and, with Frances Warner, of "Life's Minor Collisions"_

  _With pictures by Dorothy Lake Gregory_

  RAND McNALLY & COMPANY

  CHICAGO NEW YORK

  _Copyright, 1924, by_ RAND MCNALLY & COMPANY

  [Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

  THE CONTENTS

  THE FLIGHT 9

  THE SECOND NIGHT 18

  SHELTER 27

  A NEW HOME 34

  HOUSEKEEPING 43

  EARNING A LIVING 51

  AT HOME 61

  BUILDING THE DAM 71

  CHERRY PICKING 81

  THE RACE 88

  MORE EDUCATION 96

  GINSENG 105

  TROUBLE 111

  CAUGHT 120

  A NEW GRANDFATHER 127

  A UNITED FAMILY 134

  SAFE 142

  _Jess shut the door with as much care as she had openedit_]

  THE FLIGHT

  About seven o'clock one hot summer evening a strange family moved intothe little village of Middlesex. Nobody knew where they came from, orwho they were. But the neighbors soon made up their minds what theythought of the strangers, for the father was very drunk. He could hardlywalk up the rickety front steps of the old tumble-down house, and histhirteen-year-old son had to help him. Toward eight o'clock a pretty,capable-looking girl of twelve came out of the house and bought a loafof bread at the baker's. And that was all the villagers learned aboutthe newcomers that night.

  "There are four children," said the bakeshop woman to her husband thenext day, "and their mother is dead. They must have some money, for thegirl paid for the bread with a dollar bill."

  "Make them pay for everything they get," growled the baker, who was ahard man. "The father is nearly dead with drink now, and soon they willbe only beggars."

  This happened sooner than he thought. The next day the oldest boy andgirl came to ask the bakeshop woman to come over. Their father was dead.

  She went over willingly enough, for someone had to go. But it was clearthat she did not expect to be bothered with four strange children, withthe bakery on her hands and two children of her own.

  "Haven't you any other folks?" she asked the children.

  "We have a grandfather in Greenfield," spoke up the youngest childbefore his sister could clap her hand over his mouth.

  "Hush, Benny," she said anxiously.

  This made the bakeshop woman suspicious. "What's the matter with yourgrandfather?" she asked.

  "He doesn't like us," replied the oldest boy reluctantly. "He didn'twant my father to marry my mother, and if he found us he would treat uscruelly."

  "Did you ever see him?"

  "Jess has. Once she saw him."

  "Well, did he treat you cruelly?" asked the woman, turning upon Jess.

  "Oh, he didn't see me," replied Jess. "He was just passing throughour--where we used to live--and my father pointed him out to me."

  "Where did you use to live?" went on the questioner. But none of thechildren could be made to tell.

  "We will get along all right alone, won't we, Henry?" declared Jess.

  "Indeed we will!" said Henry.

  "I will stay in the house with you tonight," said the woman at last,"and tomorrow we will see what can be done."

  The four children went to bed in the kitchen, and gave the visitor theonly other bed in the house. They knew that she did not at once go tobed, but sat by the window in the dark. Suddenly they heard her talkingto her husband through the open window.

  "They must go to their grandfather, that's certain," Jess heard her say.

  "Of course," agreed her husband. "Tomorrow we will make them tell uswhat his name is."

  Soon after that Jess and Henry heard her snoring heavily. They sat up inthe dark.

  "Mustn't we surely run away?" whispered Jess in Henry's ear.

  "Yes!" whispered Henry. "Take only what we need most. We must be far offbefore morning, or they will catch us."

  Jess sat still for a moment, thinking, for every motion she made mustcount.

  "I will take both loaves of bread," she thought, "and Violet's littleworkbag. Henry has his knife. And all Father's money is in my pocket."She drew it out and counted it in the dark, squinting her eyes in thefaint light of the moon. It amounted to nearly four dollars.

  "You'll have to carry Benny until he gets waked up," whispered Jess. "Ifwe wake him up here, he might cry."

  She touched Violet as she spoke.

  "Sh! Violet! Come! We're going to run away," she whispered.

  The little girl made no sound. She sat up obediently and tried to makeout the dim shadow of her sister.

  "What shall I do?" she said, light as a breath.

  "Carry this," said Jess, handing her the workbag and a box of matches.

  Jess tiptoed over to the tin box on the table, drew out the two loavesof bread, and slipped them into the laundry bag. She peered around theroom for the last time, and then dropped two small clean towels and acake of soap into the bag.

  "All right. Pick him up," she said to Henry.

  Henry bent over the sleeping child and lifted him carefully. Jess tookthe laundry bag, turned the doorknob ever so softly, opened the doorever so slowly, and they tiptoed out in a ghostly procession.

  Jess shut the door with as much care as she had opened it, listened tothe bakeshop woman's heavy snoring for a moment, and then they turnedand picked their way without a sound to the country road.

  "She may wake up before morning, you know," whispered Henry. "We must doour fastest walking before then. If we can only get to another townbefore they find out we're gone, they won't know which way to go."

  Jess agreed, and they all walked briskly along in the faint moonlight.

  "How far can you carry Benny?" asked Violet.

  "Oh, at least a mile," said Henry confidently, although his arms werebeginning to ache. Benny was five years old, and he was a fat, healthyboy as well.

  "_I_ think we could all walk faster if we woke him up," said Jessdecidedly. "We could each take his hand and almost carry him along."

  Henry knelt by the roadside and set the little fellow against his knee.

  "Come, Benny, you must wake up now and walk!" said Jess coaxingly.

  "Go away!" Benny mumbled with his eyes shut, trying to lie down again.

  "Let me try," Violet offered softly.

  "Say, Benny, you know little Cinnamon Bear ran away to find a nice warmbed for the winter? Now, you play you're Cinnamon, and Henry and Jesswill help you along, and we'll find a bed."

  Violet's little plan worked. Benny was never too cross to listen to thewonderful stories his sister Violet could tell about Cinnamon Bear. Hestood up bravely and marched along, yawning, while his big brother andsister almost swung him between them.

  Not a soul passed them on the country road. All the houses they saw weredark and still. And when the first faint streaks of morning lightshowed in the sky, all four children were almost staggering with sleep.

  "I _mu
st_ go to sleep, Henry," murmured Jess at last. Little Benny wasasleep already, and Henry was carrying him again.

  "The first place we come to, then," panted Henry.

  Violet said nothing, but she kept her eyes open.

  Finally she caught Henry's sleeve. "Couldn't we make that haystack do?"she asked, pointing across a newly mown field.

  "Indeed we could," said Henry thankfully. "What a big, enormous one itis! I was too sleepy to see it, I guess."

  "And see how far away from the farmhouse and barn it is, too!" echoedJess.

  The sight gave them new courage. They climbed over two stone walls, gotacross a brook somehow with the heavy child, and arrived at thehaystack.

  Henry laid his brother down and stretched his aching arms, while Jessbegan to burrow into the haystack. Violet, after a moment of watchingher, did the same.

  "Here's his nest," said Jess sleepily, taking her head out of the deepround hole she had made. Henry lifted the child into the opening and waspleased to see that he curled up instantly, smiling in his sleep.

  Jess pulled wisps of hay over the opening so that it was absolutelyinvisible, and then proceeded to dig out a similar burrow for herself.

  "We can stay here just--as long--as we like, can't we, Henry?" shemurmured, digging with her eyes shut.

  "We sure can," replied Henry. "You're an old brick, Jess. Get in, andI'll pull the hay over the hole."

  Violet was already curled up in her nest, which was hidden so completelythat Henry spoke to her to see if she were there. Then he wriggledhimself backward into the haycock without stopping to hollow it out,pulled a handful of hay over his head, and laid his head on his arm.

  Just as he did so he heard a heavy voice say, "Now, then, lass, gitalong!" Then he heard the rumble of a milk wagon coming down a near-bylane, and he realized thankfully that they had hidden themselves justbefore the first farmer in the neighborhood had set off towardMiddlesex with his milk cans.

  "He will say he didn't meet us coming this way," thought Henry, "so theywill hunt for us the other way. And that will give us time to cover alot more ground."

  He dropped asleep just as the roosters all over the valley began toanswer each other.