Little Miss Oddity

It was a queer jumbled up place, that back yard of the house where Cassy and Jerry Law lived; old barrels tumbled to pieces in one corner, empty tomato cans rolled against cast-off shoes in another; here bits of broken crockery wedged themselves in between a lot of shingles, and there a pile of iron scraps crowded against a bottomless chair; on a clothes-line flapped several pairs of overalls and a stunted little tree bore upon its branches sundry stockings of various sizes and conditions.

It was a discouraging looking place, but Cassy, intently bending over a pile of dirt near the bottomless chair, did not heed anything but the fact that two tiny green shoots were poking themselves up from the unpromising soil. She was a thin-faced, bright-eyed child, not pretty, but with an eager, wistful expression, and as her face lit up with a sudden smile she looked unusually intelligent.

“Jerry, come here,” she cried; “I’ve got a garden.”

“Sho!” returned Jerry, “I don’t believe it.”

“I have so; just you come and look at it.” Cassy tossed back the locks of brown hair that hung over her eyes and softly patted with her two small hands the dry earth around the springing blades of green. Jerry came nearer. “It’s truly growing,” Cassy went on. “I didn’t stick it in the ground myself to make believe; just see.”

Jerry bent his sandy-colored head nearer to the object of his sister’s admiration.

“’Tain’t nothin’ but a old weed,” he decided at last.

“How do you know?”

“I just believe it.”

“Well, you don’t know, and I think it is just as good to believe it will grow to be a beautiful flower.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Jerry said.

“Why not?”

“’Cause.”

“But just maybe,” Cassy insisted pleadingly. “Why couldn’t it? I don’t see why not.”

“’Cause,” repeated Jerry, “I never saw no flowers growing in this back yard.”

“But Mrs. Boyle has some right next door, and oh, Jerry, Mrs. Schaff across the street has some great big lovely red ones. Please let’s hope this will be a flower.”

“Well,” replied Jerry, doubtfully, “I’ll pretend, but if it isn’t, you mustn’t say: Now, Jerry, what made you let me believe in it?”

“I won’t; I truly won’t.”

“All the same,” said Jerry, “I don’t see how you can keep it from being trampled on.”

Cassy looked alarmed.

“You see it’s right out here where anybody can pull it up or do anything. Billy Miles would rather tear it to pieces than not if he thought you wanted to keep it.”

Cassy’s distress increased. “Couldn’t we hide it or something?”

“We might for a little while, but if it should grow and grow why then anybody could find it out.”

“Oh, dear,” sighed Cassy, “it’s like Moses when they had to put him in the bulrushes. Maybe it will be a little wee bit of a flower and after a while we could come and dig it up and set it in the window. I know what I’ll do; I’ll set that old chair over it and then maybe nobody will notice it.”

“There’s a piece of chicken wire off over there,” said Jerry, good-naturedly. “I’ll get that and sort of twist it around the chair, then it will make a fence for it. Sh! There’s Billy, and if he sees us he will play the mischief with any fun of ours.”

Cassy arose hastily to her feet and faced the back door from which Billy’s form was just issuing. There was no love lost between Billy and the Law children.

“What yer doin’?” questioned Billy, looking suspiciously at Cassy’s defiant attitude.

“Nothin’.”

“Humph! I don’t believe ye.”

Cassy spread out her hands.

“Well, see, am I doing anything? Did you think I was eating strawberries or swinging in a hammock?”

“You’re too smart,” returned Billy. He came over and peered around. “You’ve got somethin’ in among those cans.”

Cassy tossed up her chin.

“You’re welcome to all you find in them.”

Billy turned one over with his foot, looked among the scraps of iron and then said:

“You’re just bluffin’, but I’ll find out.” And he climbed the fence into the next yard.

As soon as his stout legs had disappeared Cassy whirled the old chair around till it stood over her treasured plant. Jerry disengaged the strip of chicken wire from its surroundings and contrived a sort of coop-like structure which did not attract the eye, yet kept the small green shoots safely hidden without excluding the light and air.

“Now let’s go tell mother,” said Cassy, and took to her heels, Jerry following.

Up the shabby dark stairway they ran, Cassy stepping lightly, Jerry, boy-like, with clattering tread. Mrs. Law glanced up from her sewing as they entered. “We’ve got a garden,” said Cassy in a loud whisper.

“What do you mean?” inquired her mother, breaking off her thread with a snap.