Chapter II: A Partnership

Mr. Bucklin, another Frog-End farmer, had a similar right, and he and his son Percival were that same afternoon talking about the expected harvest of kelp. Mr. Bucklin was saying that there was nothing to be gained by starting for the beach till the next morning, and that even then he couldn't go, as being one of the town's selectmen he would have some public business to attend to,--and Percival, a bright, strong, enterprising boy of sixteen, was insisting that their team ought to be on the shore by daylight, and that he would be there with it if he could get anybody to go with him, when the Elder twins came crossing fields and leaping fences, and finally tumbled over the bars into the yard where father and son were talking.

"Uncle Mose says--" began Moke.

"Wind's just right for the kelp," struck in Poke.

"There'll be stacks of it," Moke exclaimed.

"And we're going!" Poke continued.

That was the way they usually did an errand or told a story,--one giving one fragment of a sentence, and his brother the next, if, indeed, they didn't both speak together.

They ended with a proposition. Their father had gone to Portland with the team; and if Mr. Bucklin would let Perce take his tip-cart and yoke of steers, they would go with him, and all the sea-weed gathered by the three should be shared equally by the two farmers.

"And what we want is----" said Moke.

"To start after an early supper this evening," said Poke.

"Camp to-night at the beach," Moke added.

"And be on hand to begin work----" Poke added, contributing his link to the conversational chain.

"As soon as the tide turns in the morning," rattled both together.

Mr. Bucklin smiled indulgently.

"I think your uncle is right," he said. "And I'm willing Perce should go. Though I don't know about your starting to-night to camp out."

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Percival, as eager for the adventure as if he had been a third twin and shared the enthusiasm of his two other selves. "That will be all the fun!"

"We'll take some green corn----" said Moke.

"And new potatoes----" said Poke.

"And a sickle to cut grass----" Moke ran on.

"And make a fire of driftwood----" Poke outstripped him.

"For the steers," said Moke, finishing his own sentence, and not Poke's.

"To roast 'em," concluded Poke, referring to the potatoes and green corn, and not to the steers.

"It'll be just grand!" Percival exclaimed. "May we, father? The tide will turn about daylight; we'll have our breakfast on the beach, and be ready to go to work; and we'll haul two big heaps on the shore, one for us and one for them, and leave 'em till they're ready to draw away and spread on the land. May we, father?"

"You're not so sure the kelp'll land," said the cautious farmer. "It's notional about it sometimes."

"But if the wind keeps off shore it will!" said Moke and Poke, two voices for a single thought.

"The wind may chip around again, and the kelp all disappear as clean as if the beach had been swept. But I don't care," added the farmer indulgently. "If you boys want to take the chance, I'll let Perce have the steers. You might gather some driftwood, anyhow. The storm must have driven a good lot of that high up, out of the reach of the common tides."

His easy consent made the boys as happy as if they had been going to a circus; and they immediately began to make preparations for the trip.

Moke and Poke ran home for their suppers, and came running back in an incredibly short time, bringing a basket of provisions, with ears of unhusked corn and bottles of spruce-beer sticking out, a blanket for their bed on the beach, and each a three-tined pitchfork for handling the kelp. These were put into the cart, along with articles furnished by Percival, and a quantity of hay which Mr. Bucklin said they would find comfortable to sleep on that night, even if it didn't come handy to feed the oxen.

The yoked steers were then made fast to the cart, and they set off.