A thrilling new story for children by M argare t Beck
R o a r i n g
R i v e r
L arry guided his coping saw around a curve on the plywood. The bam was cozy against the wind, with the smell of hay and the rustling of the animals. He glanced up as his sis ter came in pushing her warm cap back onto her coat collar. “Whatcha doing,” she said, “mak ing your white gift?” “Yeah. It’s going to be a shelf,” Larry said. “ I designed it myself. It will have hinges so it can close up flat.” Penny’s eyes grew wide with ad miration. “ The Martins will like it,” Larry said. “ Before they went to Borneo Mr. Martin told me they would have hardly any place to put things. And no place for little stuff like a clock, and, you know. It’s hard for mission aries.” A quick longing came in Penny’s eyes. “ I want to make one, too,” she said, “ for my white gift.” “ Aw !” Larry groaned. “That’s not for girls to do. Besides you’re only nine.” Her eyes pleaded. “ You’re only two years more. Mr. Goodman said, ‘Make your own,’ but I can’t think of any thing to make.” The pastor’s face flashed before Larry as he had said, “ At the close of our Christmas program we will march with our gifts and place them around the tree. W e can give to God who gave His Son. Our white gift for the King.” Penny was watching him hopeful ly. “ I could make mine for Mrs. Martin.” “We-11. Okay.” He handed her a piece of plywood and the pattern cut outs. “ Trace these.” Penny traced happily. “You think I’ll make a nice Mary in the pro gram?” she asked without looking up. “ Uh huh. Sure hope it snows, though.” 30
Philip Gendreau, N.Y.
rilled, ice-clear. “Wonder why they call it Roar ing River, Pal,” he said. Pal cocked his head. Larry laughed, “ Guess I’ll have to ask dad.” At the supper table Larry turned to his father, “Why do they call that little creek Roaring River? Seems like an awfully silly name.” “Well,” his father mused, his fork in his hand, “years ago that little stream went on a rampage in the middle of winter. We had a thawing spell. It tore up trees and drowned cattle.” Larry looked unbelieving. “ That little creek!” A bit of snow fell in the next few days, as Larry and Penny worked on their shelves. Penny struggled with the coping saw. The nailing was worse. “ They just bend,” she ex claimed, “ and won’t go where I ham mer them.” “ Shall I help you?” Larry asked, grinning at her. “No!” Two days before the program it started to rain. “ I don’t like it,” Lar ry’s father said with a troubled face. THE KING'S BUSINESS
“ Oh, it will. It’s a whole ten days to Christmas.” Penny paused, “ I think you’ll make a swell Joseph.” “ Yeah, I know,” Larry smirked, “ I have to wear pop’s bathrobe!” Penny suddenly giggled. “ And rope whiskers.” Her eyes glinted with mis chief, “You’ll be cute!” “ Aw, cut it, Pen!” But Larry laughed, too. S u d d en ly a sound interrupted. “Whuff!” At the window where the outside bank sloped up, a long collie nose pushed against the glass. Larry and Penny burst out laugh ing. “WUFF!” Larry looked at Penny. “ Think you can saw your pieces apart by your self? I’ll take Pal for a run.” “ Sure. I can saw . . . I think.” Pal raced ahead of Larry in cir cles, wild with joy. The ground was almost bare of snow. Larry headed toward Roaring River. Across the farm-acres the rolling, Ohio hills out lined their leafless maples against the winter sky. At the edge of Roaring River Larry stopped. The little creek
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