On the ride home from the grocery store Mrs. Scotchpottle saw Mr. Snide working on his fence which adjoined her property. “Jessie, pull up the wagon and let me introduce you to my neighbor, Mr. Snide. He’s the one I told you about last night.” Mrs. Scotchpottle called to him; he waved back, and hammer in hand, he walked toward the wagon. As he approached the wagon Jessie smiled. He returned her greeting but his eyes looked cold. Jessie felt a shiver run through her and for some reason she was afraid.
“Hello there. This is my granddaughter, Jessie. She is visiting from New York City.”
“Very different from the country, isn’t it, missy?” Mr. Snide cackled. “We’ve got lots of wild animals around here, dangerous ones at that. See that spot in the fence that I’m mending?” He pointed at it with his hammer. “I think a bear must have broken through it.”
Mrs. Scotchpottle laughed. “Why Mr. Snide, you know that there haven’t been any bears around here in years.”
“Well somethin’ sure did it,” Mr. Snide said. “And by the way, I saw some strange lights down by your creek last night too, Mrs. Scotchpottle.”
Mrs. Scotchpottle got very quiet. She nodded her head and waved a goodbye.
As soon as the wagon was out of earshot Mrs. Scotchpottle leaned down to Jessie and whispered, “Jessie, that’s where the tree house is. I wonder what he was doing there?” Jessie’s eyes widened and she shivered again.
It was late afternoon by the time Sparkle clip-clopped into the driveway. “Sparkle is tired and dusty, Jessie. Give her a nice drink of water and brush her while I unload the groceries.”
“Okay, Grandma. Can we have supper in the tree house? I’m dying to see it.”
“Why, that’s a good idea, Jessie, but it’s getting late so let’s be sure to take a flashlight with us.”
Mrs. Scotchpottle made cold meatloaf sandwiches and wrapped them in wax paper. Then she put them in her picnic basket along with a mason jar filled with cold lemonade. She tossed in a few chocolate chip cookies, some napkins, and a small checkered tablecloth. Closing the basket, she put on her straw hat and called for Jessie.
The creek ran along the south edge of the hundred-acre farm. The springs that fed it were pure and fresh and supplied water to several neighboring farms; this made the Scotchpottle property very valuable.
They walked through the fields of tall grass toward the creek and Jessie chased butterflies along the way. The tranquility of the scene made their worries seem less important. Soon the creek came into view.
“Oh Grandma,” Jessie cried, “it’s beautiful. Is it cold? Can I go swimming?” she chattered excitedly.
Mrs. Scothpottle laughed. “Whoa, Jessie. Let’s see what shape the tree house is in first. I wasn’t planning to go swimming.” She pointed to a large oak tree. Its branches spread far over the creek, and nestled among them was the old rickety wooden tree house.
A long, winding succession of wooden stakes had been nailed to the tree and these led Mrs. Scotchpottle and Jessie into the small darkened room.