Part 11 (2/2)
”Bet I can roll you girls off that barrel,” said Sherm with mischief in his eye.
”Bet you can't.”
”I'll help you, Sherm.”
”No you don't, Ernest--Sherm said he could--he's got to do it alone.”
Chicken Little perked up at the prospect of a tussle. ”I'll sit the other way, Katy. You and Gertie brace your feet against the ground--just as hard. Move the barrel a little and I can put mine against the chopping logs; there that's fine.”
Sherm was about fifteen feet away and he made a dash to stop these preparations. But the little girls were planted firmly before he could interfere.
He was a stout lad but he found the rolling process more difficult than he had imagined. The other boys hovered around eager to take a hand and offering unasked suggestions.
”Lift up one end--that'll heave them off.”
”You said roll, Sherm Dart!” squealed Katy as she felt the barrel gently rising under her.
”That's right, Sherm, you did,” put in Ernest who was usually fair.
Sherm disgustedly lowered the barrel, rubbing his hands together preparatory to another shove.
The little girls gloated.
”H-m-m--wasn't so easy as you thought it would be--was it?” jeered Chicken Little.
”You can't do it, Smarty,” Katy s.h.i.+ed a chip at him.
Gertie kicked her heels against the barrel in glee and said nothing.
”Before I'd let the girls get ahead of me!” Carol and Ernest joined in the chorus of derision.
”Sherm Dart beaten by the girls!”
Sherm gritted his teeth and settled down to business. He pulled--he pushed--he jerked, but the little maids succeeded in maintaining some sort of balance. He couldn't get the barrel over. Finally he had a happy thought. He also braced both feet against the chopping log and giving a sudden shove with all his strength sent the barrel over and the little girls sprawling in all directions at the same time.
There was a chorus of protests from Chicken Little and Katy, but Ernest and Carol acting as umpires declared that Sherm had kept his contract.
Furthermore, the boys were eager to light the furnace, dry or not.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Wiping his eyes ... as the puffs came thicker.]
To Chicken Little was granted the proud privilege of touching the match to the heaped-up fuel. It took five matches to do the work and when the paper and kindling finally caught, the smoke showed a disposition to pour out the door into their faces instead of puffing decorously up the chimney.
”I don't see what ails the old thing,” said Sherman, wiping his eyes and backing off as the puffs came thicker.
”Bet there's a crack some place near the top that spoils the draught.”
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