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A Development of the
Anohist Reseorch Laboratories
HELP FEED AND CLOTHE
OUR FRIENDS IN ASIA!
People with adequate food and clothing
are not likely to be seduced by com
munism. S-nd your CARE packagp to
day through your local CAKE office or
your Railway Express office. Your pack
age will help a human being and the
cause of freedom all over the world.
by Louise W. Christopher
Art by Elmer Smith
"They were driving 50 miles out of their way, but iT
it meant so much to six-year-old Butch and
her husband, Ken, Janet Whiting resolved to
keep silent. Butch plied Ken with excited questions.
At last he was going to see the setting of those bed
time stories about bareback rides to the country
school, the old swimming hole, Skunk Hollow where
his father as a boy had trapped in order to sell
pelts all very real to Butch.
As they neared the old Whiting farm, Janet
looked at the flat Midwest fields, the miles of tele
phone wires straight as bars of music on a page.
"Best farm land in -the world," Ken said.
"I'm sure of it," answered Janet, laughing.
"That's the very spot where the schoolhouse
stood," said Ken, "I guess."
Butch was wide-eyed. "The one that burned to
the ground the time you ran to get the farmers?"
Janet looked at the dry weedy patch of fenced-in
land. A signboard read, "Lots Cheap."
They passed a deserted hot-dog stand boarded up
for Winter. "That's new, and that road," Ken
laughed sheepishly, "it wasn't here then."
Janet didn't dare meet his eyes. Dreading the
next few miles, she realized it was for Ken she
felt concern, not Butch. Could Ken possibly think
it would all look the same, that nothing had changed
since he left Illinois at the age of 12?
He speeded up. "Funny how you forget," he said.
"This must be about where I fell off old Dolly and
broke my arm."
Butch beamed up at him. "And you had to walk
miles and miles, didn't you, Dad, with the old bone
sticking out?" Ken nodded, grinning.
Then there it was, Sunny Hill Farm. But where
was the hill? Janet felt only pity. Don't let
him be hurt, she prayed.
She was surprised at the smallness of the house.
Behind it was a dilapidated barn in need of paint, a
weedy garden, and two rows of what Butch called
"pig tents." It was all very drab and unappealing.
."Is that really it, Dad?" Did Janet detect dis
appointment in Butch's voice?
"What a wonderful view!" she managed.
When the car stopped, she noticed a trestle table
in the side yard. The farm family was eating noon
day dinner. A mangy-looking dog bounded up,
followed by a woman and twin boys.
"Did Beauty look like that?" said Butch, pointing.
Ken shook his head. "Beauty was a beauty."
The woman's manner was friendly. "If you're
looking for the Swenson sale, it's down that way."
"No," said Ken, "I used to live here. Name's
Whiting."
Janet added hopefully, "Perhaps you've heard of
old Judge Whiting?"
"Can't say's I have," said the woman, "but you're
welcome to look around." She was leading them
to the house, disinterested.
"Ken, do you think we should?" Janet asked. She
saw the farmer and hired hand out near the barn.
"No bother," said the woman.
The kitchen was cramped, with a giant television
set in one corner. Ken smiled wryly.
They took a hasty look around. The sink pump
was gone, of course; also the wood range, the wall
box telephone, the bird cage from the dining room
bay, and the grandfather clock that never failed.
Butch pulled at his sleeve. "Can I see the attic,
Dad, where you stored that old skull?"
The woman apologized. "Ain't no attic, sonny.
Remodeled."
Ken patted Butch's shoulder. "I'll show you the
barn. I bet there are still plenty of kittens," His
voice, full of assurance, was also nostalgic.
Janet remembered the tales about jumping in the
haymow, the runaway horse, the seven cows Ken
milked, as she watched Butch dashing for the barn.
She lingered in the kitchen pretending interest in
the freezer. Suddenly above the stove she caught
sight of a dimly brown oil painting of the Old
Oaken Bucket. Underneath were inscribed the
18
Family Weekly, January 19. 195S