Chapter Twelve

Troubles, as the proverb says, tend to travel in packs. Hetty was enjoying the reception to the fullest, ushering Roger around, sipping tea with dignitaries and basking in reflected glory, when two men arrived. They certainly weren’t invited guests and they certainly weren’t in the business of admiring Roger King. In fact, they were the local bailiff and his deputy, making their way purposefully towards Hetty.

“Excuse me,” boomed the bailiff, shouldering his way into the middle of a constellation of guests. “Miss Hetty King, is it?”

Hetty, aglow with the triumphs of the day, turned grandly. She was sipping from one of Grandmother King’s fine bone china cups and had just been regaling the cream of Avonlea society with Roger’s accomplishments in Brazil. She did not take kindly to being interrupted by uninvited strangers.

“Yes, I most certainly am,” she informed them in an intimidating tone.

The bailiff, a tall, lugubrious-looking man in an equally lugubrious black suit, gave a ghost of a nod. In his profession, he certainly didn’t expect any welcomes.

“Sorry to barge in on you like this, Miss King, but this is rather urgent official business.”

On the bailiff’s signal, the deputy whipped out a grimly official-looking sheet of paper and handed it to Hetty. Very much annoyed, Hetty turned back to her guests.

“Would you excuse me a moment?”

Pointing away from the crowd, Hetty gestured to the intruders.

“Why don’t we step over here?”

She walked the two men around the screen of some lilac bushes to get a little privacy and faced the pair brusquely.

“My good man, what do you mean by coming in here?” she snapped. “This is private property.”

“Apparently,” drawled the bailiff, ignoring her temper, “you purchased a milking machine from MacCrae Brothers Agricultural Equipment.”

“Yes, I did.” And what of it? her look demanded.

“It seems your check was returned, ma’am. There were insufficient funds in your account in Carmody. I’m here to repossess the milking machine.”

Hetty’s eyes almost popped out from shock. She cast a furtive look at all the assembled guests, most of them local people who would love nothing better than to take home such a scandalous tidbit about the Kings.

“Surely it can all wait for a more—appropriate day,” she stuttered, almost whispering now in an attempt to keep the situation from reaching the ears of her company.

The bailiff shook his head. Money matters, as Amos Spry had already found out, never wait for a more appropriate day.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. My instructions are to take the machine away with me, unless you can pay for it...in cash.”

Cash! Hetty thought of all the money she had just spent on the reception, and of the very few dollars left in her purse. Embarrassed, and completely flustered, she had no choice but to set out, followed closely by the two men, for the barn.

On the other side of the farmhouse, Felix had finally escaped the social crush and was sitting in peace and quiet under a maple. Not only that, he had finally got his hands on the whipped cream, which was now heaped into an enormous peak smothering the cupcake he clutched in his hand. This reception, Felix decided, might have its benefits after all.

Settling himself luxuriously back against the tree trunk, Felix took an enormous bite out of the cupcake, smearing whipped cream from his nose to his chin. Before he even had a chance to swallow it, though, he caught a glimpse of Andrew tramping out of the house with the fishing basket in his hand. Immediately, Felix heaved himself to his knees.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Where are you going with my fishing basket?”

“None of your business, Felix,” Andrew growled back, speeding up his pace.

Andrew’s face was knotted with some fearful resolution that did not bode well for the fishing basket. Sara, who had been walking rapidly towards the barn, turned in surprise and started running after Andrew, worried by her cousin’s expression. Not to be left out, Felix gulped down the cupcake and sprang to his feet. Whatever concerned the fishing basket also concerned him. He set off after Andrew as fast as his legs could carry him.

The two children caught up with Andrew on the old bridge over the river that ran past the King farm. Andrew, standing by the rail, had opened the basket. Grimly, piece by piece, he was flinging his precious rock collection into the water below.

“Andrew, what are you doing?” Sara panted, remembering what pains Andrew had gone to to put the collection together.

“Dumb rocks!” was all Andrew had to say as he pitched the last bit of quartz furiously into the river.

The splash had barely settled when Andrew swung the fishing basket itself up into the air, clearly intent on slinging it into the river too.

Felix’s face contorted with shock. “That’s my basket!” he croaked, making a wild dive to save it from a watery fate. He managed to grip one corner and fling himself into a fierce tug-of-war with his cousin.

“It’s my basket.” Andrew shouted, jerking it as hard as he could. “I’ll do what I please with it!”

“Andrew!” Sara pleaded, but her voice was unheard over the shuffling and grunting of the two boys.

Andrew, being bigger and older than Felix, and having a far better grip, at last wrenched the basket from Felix’s hands and heaved it as far as he could over the rail. Over and over it tumbled in the air before splashing into the murky water below. Felix started turning purple with sheer rage.

“What did you do that for? You stuck-up little Hetty’s pet!”

Vengefully, Felix flew at Andrew, trying to grab a great handful of his cousin’s hair. Taken by surprise Andrew lost his footing as he tried to fend off his attacker. As he fell, Andrew took Felix with him. The next moment the two boys were rolling about on the bridge pummeling each other for all they were worth. Sara jumped out of range barely in time to avoid being knocked down herself. Seeing how quickly the fight was escalating, she began to wring her hands in distress.

“Felix! Andrew!” she cried frantically. “Someone’s gonna get hurt!”

Hurting someone was just what both boys were bent on. Felix was furious about the fishing basket, and Andrew needed to vent all his pent- up frustration about his father’s departure. Seeing that she could do nothing herself, Sara turned around and dashed away to get help.

The help she had in mind was her Uncle Alec, who happened, at that moment, to be walking out of the barn. He had changed into his overalls and was so absorbed in his own worries that he all but fell over the bailiff and his deputy, who were coming in pursuit of the milking machine. The bailiff and the deputy were trailed by Hetty and, of course, Roger, who had realized that something was afoot. Hetty was in a state of rage and mortification far too colorful to be described.

“Alec King,” she sputtered when she caught sight of her brother, “I have never been so humiliated in all my—Of all things, the bailiff’s arrived, in the middle of Roger’s reception, to repossess the milking machine!”

If she thought this news was going to jolt Alec, she was in for a surprise. Alec barely looked up.

“Well...” he muttered, thoroughly disgusted with the milking machine and its effects, “let him have it.”

Incredibly, Alec started walking on again. Roger stopped him by grabbing his arm.

“Don’t give yourself airs, Alec King. This is your fault, and you act like nothing’s happened.”

Alec was getting very tired of Roger and Hetty’s dramatics. He jerked his arm free and nodded back towards the stable.

“Look, we’ve got a cow in there that might die if I don’t get the vet.”

“A cow?” croaked Hetty, as though she had never heard of the beasts before.

“Your milking machine—”

Alec choked off the rest of his furious retort before he could say something he’d truly regret. Before he could get anything else out, Sara came barreling along the barnyard fence, shouted urgently through the gate.

“Uncle Alec, Uncle Alec! Andrew and Felix won’t stop fighting. Andrew tried to throw Felix into the river!”