Norma: A Flower Scout

“Here I am at Green Hill, just as much at home after a few hours’ time, as if I had been here for years. But, oh, Mother! Such an arrival as we three girls experienced! I wish you could have seen us when we finally reached the farm. How Daddy would have laughed! But you, Muzzer, would have wept at the sight of my shoes, they were so covered with mud. And you would have reminded me that you had just paid fifteen dollars for them, downtown. But it was not my fault—that mud. It was Amity Ketchum’s fault. I’ll tell you about it.

“When Belle Barlow, Frances Lowden and I jumped from the poky local train that stopped at Four Corners on signal only, we looked all around for some sort of a hack to take us and our luggage to Green Hill. We remembered what Mrs. James had told us about the lazy driver who took them to the farm when they arrived, but he was not to be seen when we got there.

“Then we went to the ticket-office to ask the agent about some sort of a conveyance, but the place was closed and not a soul anywhere about the building. We looked at each other and laughed.

“‘There’s but one alternative, girls—walk!’ declared Belle, in her usual calm superior manner.

“The drizzle that was sifting down when we left New York had become a fine rain at Four Corners, making the roads muddy and full of small pools. We had our suitcases and smaller traps to carry, as well as hold up our umbrellas to keep our new straw hats from becoming discouraged and droopy. Can you picture us?

“As Frances remarked after we had hiked for a hundred yards and suddenly caught a squall of wind sweeping over the fields: ‘The luggage acted as ballast and anchorage at the same time, to keep us from flying up in the air with temper.’ Struggling along in spite of handicaps, we finally reached the Post Office store.

“Now what do you think! There sat that lazy Amity Ketchum tilted back in an old wooden chair, his feet crossed on top of a small cylinder stove, discussing present-day politics. If the three of us had not felt so aggrieved, we must have laughed outright at the sight of the solitary hackman in the profession at Four Corners, absolutely regardless of trade, or the difficulties his clients must experience on such a day, with their misplaced confidence in Amity causing them such free exercise as we were having.

“Why will doting parents misname their progeny as this man Amity was named, Mother? He is so far from being amiable that his name should suggest just the opposite of what ‘Amity’ means. We girls learned from the store keeper that Amity Ketchum was the local Jehu, so Belle spoke to him in rather an imperious tone.