Spring's Gentle Promise Read Online Free

the activities of Mary. She helped bake bread, churn butter and wash clothes. She even spent time in the garden pulling weeds—along with a few carrots and turnips—and washed dishes, very slowly, doing more playing in the soapy water than scrubbing the plates and cups. But Sarah seemed to fit very nicely into the farm life, and we all enjoyed her chatter and sunny disposition.
    Grandpa and Uncle Charlie tried their best to keep young Jon entertained. They whittled him whistles and slingshots, fashioned him fish poles and found him a barn kitten. But, still, Jon seemed to be continually slipping out from under supervision, off finding entertainment of his own making.
    In the few days he was with us he got into more scrapes and mischief—not out of naughtiness but “just tryin’ to he’p.” He dumped all the hens’ water and filled their drinking dishes with hay—he said they looked hungry. He tied the farm dog to a tree with so many knots that it took Grandpa most of an afternoon to get him released again—he said he was afraid “Fritz might get runned over by the tractor.” He shot a rock through the front room window with the slingshot he was not to play with around the house—he said that it “went off” when he wasn’t ready. He picked a whole pail of tiny apples that were just beginning to form nicely on the apple trees—he wanted to help Mary with an apple pie. He visited the hen house and threw a couple dozen eggs at the old sow who fed in the nearby pen—he wanted to teach her a trick, “like Pixie,” of snatching food from the air.
    And, as far as I was concerned, the worst stunt of all was helping himself to a bottle of India ink from Matilda’s supply desk and sneaking up on unsuspecting Chester, climbing the corral fence and pouring it all over the horse’s back. He wanted to “surprise Unc’a Josh” with a pretty, spotted horse like one he had seen in a picture book.
    We had a family council that night. I was ready to send Jon on home, but Mary argued that he really wasn’t naughty and needed a chance to learn about the farm. Grandpa sided with her. How could the boy learn what he could and couldn’t do if he wasn’t given the chance to do a little exploring? So Jon stayed on, but we gave the four-year-old more rules and tried to watch him even closer.
    I was busy repairing the back pasture fence when Jon joined me one afternoon.
    “Hi, Unc’a Josh,” he greeted me warmly. I looked at the bright eyes and mop of brown hair.
    “Hi, fella,” I responded a bit cautiously. “Does Mary know you’re here?”
    Jon did not answer my question but held a little red pail as high as his short arm could hoist it.
    “Brought ya a drink,” he announced. “Are ya thirsty?”
    The summer sun was hot, and I was thirsty. I stopped to wipe the sweat from my brow and reached for the pail the boy held out to me.
    “Auntie Mary said ya would be thirsty,” Jon continued. Lou had her children refer to Mary as “auntie” as a term of respect.
    My eyes shifted to the nearby farmhouse. I was close enough that I didn’t need to be waited on—I could walk to the house or the well for a drink. Still, maybe Mary thought a bit of a stroll and an “errand” would do the small boy good. I sat down on the grass and pulled Jon onto my knee, one hand supporting the pail.
    “Where’s Mary?” I asked him, looking at the dirt streaks on his hands and face.
    “Busy doin’ some’pin,” he answered.
    “So you brought me a drink?”
    He nodded.
    “That was mighty nice,” I complimented Jon. “Thank you.”
    I lifted the pail to my lips. The water was not as cool as usually comes from our deep well, and I couldn’t help but wonder just how long Jon had been on his journey. At least it was wet. I took another long drink.
    “So what have you been doing today?” I asked Jon.
    He thought about that for a few moments before answering.
    “I he’ped Grandpa hoe the garden,” he said brightly and then