Turning Things Around. Valerie Tripp

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      “Yes?” asked the lady who came to the door.

      “Would you like to buy some eggs?” Kit asked.

      “How much…?” the lady began. She stopped and stared at Kit. “Why, aren’t you the little Kittredge girl, Margaret Kittredge’s daughter?” she asked, peering through the rain. “What are you doing selling eggs? Wherever did you get them?”

      The lady’s questions embarrassed Kit. She swallowed hard and said, “They’re from our chickens. They’re twenty-five cents a dozen.”

      “Your chickens?” asked the lady. “It’s come to that? Your family is raising chickens? In your yard?”

      Kit felt hot, the way she had in the grocery store. The lady made it sound as if her family had lost all dignity and sunk into humiliating poverty.

      Stirling glanced at Kit, then saved the situation by speaking up boldly. “Yes, the chickens live right around the corner,” he said. “So you know these eggs are good and fresh. How many do you want?”

      “Well!” said the lady. “I’ll take a dozen.” She carefully counted out her money, took the eggs, and closed the door.

      Kit turned to Stirling. “Let’s go to a street farther away,” she said.

      “Okay,” said Stirling. Kit could tell by the look in his gray eyes that he knew why she wanted to go where no one knew her.

      It was easy to sell the eggs, just as Aunt Millie had said it would be. People were pleased to buy fresh eggs delivered right to their doors at a price slightly lower than the price in the store. Kit soon had one dollar and twenty-five cents in her pocket. And yet, as she and Stirling walked home, Kit felt tired and disheartened. She knew she shouldn’t have been ashamed by the first lady’s questions, but she was, all the same. A drop of rain dripped off the end of her nose. Kit swiped it with her hand, which was also wet. Everything was miserable and discouraging because of the leaden sky and dreary rain. Then, on the sidewalk ahead, Kit saw a muddy brown lump. She stopped.

      “What is it?” asked Stirling.

      Kit knelt down next to the lump. “It’s a dog,” she said, gently touching one wet, furry ear. “A poor, starving, pitiful dog.” Attached to a string around the dog’s neck was a soggy piece of paper with a message on it. The rain had blurred the writing so that the words had inky tears dripping from them, but Kit could read: Can’t feed her anymore.

      The dog sighed, and looked at Kit with the saddest eyes she’d ever seen. The look went straight to Kit’s heart, making her forget all about her own hurt feelings. “Stirling, this dog’s been abandoned,” she said. “We’ve got to bring her home and feed her.”

      Stirling didn’t hesitate. “Let’s put her in the wagon,” he said. “Aunt Millie will know how to save her.”

      “Come on, old girl,” Kit said softly as she and Stirling awkwardly lifted the dog into the wagon. The poor creature looked like a bag of bones and fur with its short hind legs folded beneath its stomach, its long, forlorn face resting on its muddy front paws, and its droopy ears puddled around its head. The dog did not move or whimper the whole time Kit pulled the wagon home. It did not even lift its head when Kit stopped outside the screen door.

      Stirling went into the kitchen and brought Aunt Millie outside.

      “You’ve got to help, Aunt Millie,” said Kit. “We think she’s starving.”

      “Heavenly day!” said Aunt Millie. She bent down to examine the dog. “You children did the right thing, rescuing this poor dog. She’s a sorrowful sight now, and I don’t suppose she’ll ever be a beauty, but she’s a fine old hound. Not a thing wrong with her that food and loving care won’t cure. She’ll be a good guard dog for us and will more than earn her keep.” Aunt Millie stood up and said briskly, “Put her in the garage. Keep her there until your mother’s party is over. I’ll rustle up some scraps and bring them out to you as soon as I can. Later, we’ll bathe her.”

      As Kit and Stirling pulled the wagon to the garage, several things happened at once. The rain stopped, the clouds parted, and the sun shone at last. Mother and the garden club ladies came outside. They stood on the terrace to admire the azaleas, which looked heavenly with the raindrops sparkling on their delicate, colorful petals. The chickens were drawn outside by the sunshine, too. They emerged from their coop, strutting and clucking with enthusiasm, to peck in the mud for worms brought up by the rain.

      At the sound of the chickens, the dog suddenly lifted its nose and sniffed the air. To Kit and Stirling’s astonishment, the dog threw back its head and let loose a bloodcurdling howl. The ladies screeched, the chickens squawked, and the dog bolted out of the wagon and took off toward the chickens like a shot, barking wildly. Its lope was ungainly and awkward, but it was amazingly fast. Before anyone knew what was happening, the dog had chased some of the chickens across the lawn and onto the terrace, right into the middle of the ladies! The ladies protested as loudly as the chickens as the dog herded them all into the dining room, closely followed by Kit and Stirling.

      Feathers flew. Kit chased the chickens and the dog around the tea table, trying to call to the dog above the ladies’ shrieks. Dad, Charlie, and some of the boarders thundered down the stairs shouting, “What’s going on?” Aunt Millie heard the racket and barreled out of the kitchen, flapping her apron at the chickens and shouting instructions to Kit.

      Finally, Kit took a flying leap and tackled the dog. In so doing, she jostled the table. The china rattled like chattering teeth. The centerpiece of flowers rocked wildly. The candleholder tottered, fell over, then crashed to the floor. Somehow, Aunt Millie and Stirling shooed the chickens, who were still clucking indignantly, outside. Kit dragged the dog into the kitchen. She didn’t dare take it outside until the chickens were safely shut up in their coop.

      The calamity was over, but the party was ruined. The ladies scooped up their gloves and purses, said hurried thank-yous and good-byes to Mother, and scurried home. The house was suddenly quiet.

      “I’m so sorry,” said Kit when Mother came into the kitchen.

      “You should apologize to Miss Mildred,” said Mother wearily. “She’s the one who worked so hard to make the party beautiful.” Mother shook her head. “For myself, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I’ve never seen such a disaster in all my life. Where on earth did that filthy dog come from?”

      “Aunt Millie says—” Kit began, but Mother held up her hand.

      “Stop,” she said. “Don’t bother telling me. I can guess. The dog is one of Miss Mildred’s rescue projects.” She sighed. “I am grateful for all her hard work these past weeks. But I’m at my wit’s end! My home has not been my own since…” Mother didn’t finish her sentence, but she didn’t need to. Kit knew that she was going to say “since Miss Mildred came.”

      Mother put her hands on her hips and leaned forward. “You,” she said to the dog, “smell. But Miss Mildred can never resist a hopeless cause, so I guess we’re stuck with you. Well, I hope you’re happy, dog. It’s thanks to you that my garden club party was the party to end all parties.”

      The party to end all parties, thought Kit. Oh dear.

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