a lot of work to do.”
“We’ll help,” Benny volunteered.
“I’ll take you up on that offer,” Grandfather said, smiling. “In fact, we’ll start tomorrow. The four of you could clean the Minuteman statue.”
“Okay. The Winter Festival sounds like fun,” Violet said. “I hope everybody comes.”
“That reminds me,” Mrs. Turner said. “Your poster isn’t up.” She called across the room, “Mr. Kirby, did you put up the festival poster?”
The druggist frowned, drawing his bushy brows together. “Mrs. Turner, I have better things to do than hang posters.”
“But the festival is important!” Benny said.
James Alden added, “We’re trying to raise money to make repairs in the town square. It’s a worthy cause.”
Henry spotted a corner of orange card-board beneath a pile of advertising circulars. “Here’s the poster,” he declared. “If you give me some tape, I’ll hang it.”
The waitress handed him a roll of tape. “Put it on the door. That way everybody will see it.”
“I’ll help you, Henry.” Violet slid off her stool and held the poster against the door. Henry secured the corners with tape.
“ ‘Fun for everyone,’ ” Violet read. “ ‘Handicraft booths, refreshments, games, and prizes.’ ”
“I hope I win a prize,” Benny said, scraping up the last of his pie.
“I hope we raise a lot of money,” said his grandfather. “Josiah Wade will topple in the middle of the square if we don’t replace his base soon.”
The statue of Josiah Wade had guarded the center of Greenfield Square for as long as anyone could remember. With his musket at his side, the Revolutionary War hero stood staunchly on a base of granite blocks.
“The base is crumbling,” Jessie said, looking out the window. “Little pieces of rock have fallen off.”
“After the festival, we’ll have a new base made for the statue,” said Grandfather. “But the town still has to decide whether to move Old Josiah.”
“Why move it?” asked Violet. She liked the statue just where it was. The Minuteman wasn’t very tall — just a little taller than Grandfather — and it was nice to lean against while eating an ice-cream cone.
“Some people would like to repave the square,” answered Grandfather. “And put a fountain where the statue is.”
“Where would the statue go?” Henry asked, returning the roll of tape to Mrs. Turner.
Grandfather shrugged. “That’s another question. But first the town must vote whether or not to move the statue. As director of the festival, I’ll announce the result the day of the festival.”
The ballot box was mounted outside the door of the drugstore. The wooden box had a slot in its hinged lid. Voters slipped ballots into the slot.
“I sent in my ballot,” said Mrs. Turner. “Guess which way I voted.”
Benny swung around on his stool to face her. “You’re not supposed to tell! A vote is secret!”
The other Aldens laughed. Benny was famous for not keeping secrets.
“It’s no secret,” said the waitress. “Both Mr. Cooke and I want to keep old Josiah in the square where he belongs.”
“What about you, Mr. Kirby?” Henry asked the druggist. “What do you think we should do with the statue? Leave it in the square or move it?”
Mr. Kirby said, “I don’t live in this town. So it doesn’t matter to me. I’m only here until Mr. Cooke returns.”
“You can still vote,” Benny told him. He felt everyone should be concerned about the fate of the statue.
Grandfather paid the bill. Then he said to the children, “We’ve got a lot of festival work to do. We’d better get started.”
“At least Mrs. McGregor won’t have to feed us lunch,” said Jessie. Mrs. McGregor was their housekeeper.
It was so chilly out that Violet had worn her warm, purple jacket. As they went outside, she put her hands in her jacket pockets. Her fingers touched a scrap of paper.
“My pictures!” she said. “I forgot to pick up my photographs. That’s
“We’ll help,” Benny volunteered.
“I’ll take you up on that offer,” Grandfather said, smiling. “In fact, we’ll start tomorrow. The four of you could clean the Minuteman statue.”
“Okay. The Winter Festival sounds like fun,” Violet said. “I hope everybody comes.”
“That reminds me,” Mrs. Turner said. “Your poster isn’t up.” She called across the room, “Mr. Kirby, did you put up the festival poster?”
The druggist frowned, drawing his bushy brows together. “Mrs. Turner, I have better things to do than hang posters.”
“But the festival is important!” Benny said.
James Alden added, “We’re trying to raise money to make repairs in the town square. It’s a worthy cause.”
Henry spotted a corner of orange card-board beneath a pile of advertising circulars. “Here’s the poster,” he declared. “If you give me some tape, I’ll hang it.”
The waitress handed him a roll of tape. “Put it on the door. That way everybody will see it.”
“I’ll help you, Henry.” Violet slid off her stool and held the poster against the door. Henry secured the corners with tape.
“ ‘Fun for everyone,’ ” Violet read. “ ‘Handicraft booths, refreshments, games, and prizes.’ ”
“I hope I win a prize,” Benny said, scraping up the last of his pie.
“I hope we raise a lot of money,” said his grandfather. “Josiah Wade will topple in the middle of the square if we don’t replace his base soon.”
The statue of Josiah Wade had guarded the center of Greenfield Square for as long as anyone could remember. With his musket at his side, the Revolutionary War hero stood staunchly on a base of granite blocks.
“The base is crumbling,” Jessie said, looking out the window. “Little pieces of rock have fallen off.”
“After the festival, we’ll have a new base made for the statue,” said Grandfather. “But the town still has to decide whether to move Old Josiah.”
“Why move it?” asked Violet. She liked the statue just where it was. The Minuteman wasn’t very tall — just a little taller than Grandfather — and it was nice to lean against while eating an ice-cream cone.
“Some people would like to repave the square,” answered Grandfather. “And put a fountain where the statue is.”
“Where would the statue go?” Henry asked, returning the roll of tape to Mrs. Turner.
Grandfather shrugged. “That’s another question. But first the town must vote whether or not to move the statue. As director of the festival, I’ll announce the result the day of the festival.”
The ballot box was mounted outside the door of the drugstore. The wooden box had a slot in its hinged lid. Voters slipped ballots into the slot.
“I sent in my ballot,” said Mrs. Turner. “Guess which way I voted.”
Benny swung around on his stool to face her. “You’re not supposed to tell! A vote is secret!”
The other Aldens laughed. Benny was famous for not keeping secrets.
“It’s no secret,” said the waitress. “Both Mr. Cooke and I want to keep old Josiah in the square where he belongs.”
“What about you, Mr. Kirby?” Henry asked the druggist. “What do you think we should do with the statue? Leave it in the square or move it?”
Mr. Kirby said, “I don’t live in this town. So it doesn’t matter to me. I’m only here until Mr. Cooke returns.”
“You can still vote,” Benny told him. He felt everyone should be concerned about the fate of the statue.
Grandfather paid the bill. Then he said to the children, “We’ve got a lot of festival work to do. We’d better get started.”
“At least Mrs. McGregor won’t have to feed us lunch,” said Jessie. Mrs. McGregor was their housekeeper.
It was so chilly out that Violet had worn her warm, purple jacket. As they went outside, she put her hands in her jacket pockets. Her fingers touched a scrap of paper.
“My pictures!” she said. “I forgot to pick up my photographs. That’s
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