Carl and the Cotton Gin   By: Sara Ware Bassett (1872-1968)

CARL AND THE COTTON GIN

by

SARA WARE BASSETT

With Illustrations by William F. Stecher

Boston Little, Brown, and Company 1924

Copyright, 1924, by Little, Brown, and Company. All rights reserved

Published September, 1924

Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I THE MCGREGORS 1

II CARL TELLS A STORY 17

III A TRAGEDY 31

IV PROBLEMS 45

V A TANGLE OF SURPRISES 60

VI THE WEB WIDENS 71

VII THE COMING OF THE FAIRY GODMOTHER 79

VIII THE ROMANCE OF COTTON 97

IX NORTH AND SOUTH 112

X A LESSON IN THRIFT 124

XI A FAMILY CONGRESS 140

XII A CLUE 160

XIII HAL REPEATS HIS VISIT 180

XIV SPINNING YARNS 193

XV TIDINGS 219

XVI A RELUCTANT ALTRUIST 228

XVII AN ORDEAL 237

XVIII THE SOLUTION OF MANY MYSTERIES 250

XIX UNRAVELING THE SNARLS 259

ILLUSTRATIONS

"MR. CARL MCGREGOR," ANNOUNCED HE IN A STENTORIAN TONE Frontispiece

Page

"THE COTTON IS SENT TO FACTORIES TO BE GINNED" " 129

"BUT THAT ISN'T OUR BASKET, MOTHER," CARL SAID. "THIS IS MUCH BIGGER" 155

"I'VE HUNTED FOR YOU AND YOUR RED CAR EVER SINCE" 253

CARL AND THE COTTON GIN

CHAPTER I

THE McGREGORS

"Carl!"

"Coming, Ma!"

Mrs. McGregor waited a moment.

"But you aren't coming," protested she fretfully. "You never seem to come when you're wanted. Drat the child! Where is he? Carl!"

"Yes, Ma."

" Yes, Ma! Yes, Ma! " the woman mimicked impatiently. "It's easy enough to shout Yes, Ma ; but where are you that's what I want to know. You're the slowest creature on God's earth, I believe. A tortoise would be a race horse compared with you. What under the sun are you doing?"

The boy entered, a good humored grin on his face.

He was thin, lanky, and blue eyed, and a rebellious lock of tawny hair that curled despite all he could do waved back from his forehead. He might have been fourteen years old or he might have been seventeen; it was hard to tell whether he was an overgrown younger boy or an under sized older one. Whatever his age, however, he could certainly boast a serene disposition, for his mother's caustic comments failed to ruffle his temper. Having heard them ever since babyhood he was quite accustomed to their acid tang; moreover, he had learned to gage them for what they were worth and class them along with the froth on a soda or the sputter of a freshly lighted match. The thing underneath was what mattered and he knew well that beneath the torrent of words his mother was the best mother on earth, so what more could a boy ask?