Chapter OneMcBroom the RainmakerWell, there''s no truth to that. No, indeed Those weren''t woodpeckers. They were common prairie mosquitoes. Small ones.Why, skeeters grow so large out here that everybody uses chicken wire for mosquito netting. But I''m not going to say an unkind word about those zing-zanging, hot-tempered, needle-nosed creatures. They rescued our farm from ruin. That was during the Big Drought we had last year. Dry? Merciful powers Our young''uns found some polliwogs and had to teach them to swim. It hadn''t rained in so long those tadpoles had never seen water. That''s the sworn truth -- certain as my name''s Josh McBroom. Why, I''d as soon grab a skunk by the tail as tell a falsehood. Now, I''d best creep up on the Big Drought the way it crept up on us. I remember we did our spring plowing as usual, and the skeeters hatched out as usual. The bloodsucking rapscallions could be mighty pesky, but we''d learned to distract them. The thirsty critters would drink up "anything red."Will"jillhester"chesterpeter"pollytim"tommary"larryandlittle"clarinda " I called out. "I hear the whine of gallinippers. Better put in a patch of beets."Once the beets were up the skeeters stuck in their long beaks like straws. Didn''t they feast, though They drained out the red juice, the beets turned white, and we harvested them as turnips.The first sign of a dry spell coming was when our clocks began running slow. We grew our own clocks on the farm.Vegetable clocks.Now I''ll admit that may behard to believe, but not if you understand the remarkable nature of our topsoil. Rich? Glory be Anything would grow in it -- lickety-bang. Three or four crops a day until the confounded Big Dry came along.Of course, we didn''t grow clocks with gears and springs and a name on the dial. Came close once though. I dropped my dollar pocket watch one day, and before I could find it, the thing had put down roots and grown into a three-dollar alarm clock. But it never kept accurate time after that.It was our young''uns who discovered they could tell time by vegetable. They planted a cucumber seed, and once the vine leaped out of the ground, it traveled along steady as a clock."An inch a second," Will said. "Kind of like a second hand.""Blossoms come out on the minute," Jill said. "Kind of like a minute hand."They tried other vegetable timepieces, but pole beans had a way of running a mite fast and squash a mite slow.As I say, those homegrown clocks began running down. I remember my dear wife, Melissa, was boiling three-and-a-half-minute eggs for breakfast. Little Clarinda planted a cucumber seed, and before it grew three blossoms and thirty inches, those eggs were hard-boiled."Mercy " I declared. "Topsoil must be drying out."But I wasn''t worried. Rain would turn up.What turned up was our neighbor Heck Jones. Rusty nails stuck out of his bulging pockets. He was a tall, scrawny man with eyes shifty as minnows."Hee-haw " he laughed. "Drought''s a-comin''. You won''t be able to grow weeds. Better buy some of my rain nails.""Rain nails?" I said."Magnetized ''em myself." He grinned. "Secret formula neighbor. Pound ''em in the ground, and they''ll draw rain clouds likeflies to a garbage heap.""Fiddle-faddle," I declared. "Flapdoodle, sir ""Why, only five dollars apiece. I''m merely trying to be of service, neighbor. Other farmers''ll buy my rain nails-hee-haw " And off he went, cackling through his nose.Wasn''t he an infernal scoundrel, I thought Setting out to swindle his neighbors into buying rusty old nails at five dollars each Well, the days turned drier and drier. No doubt about it -- our wonderful topsoil was losing some of its get-up-and-go. Why, it took almost a whole day to raise a crop of corn. The young''uns had planted a plum tree, but all it would grow was prunes. Dogs would fight over a dry bone-for the moisture in it."Will"jillhester"chesterpeter"pollytim"tommary"larryandlittle"clarinda " I called. "Keep your eyes peeled for rain."They took turns in the tree house scanning the skies, and one night Chester said, "Pa, what if it doesn''t rain by Fourth of July? How''ll we shoot off firecrackers?""Be patient, my lambs," I said. We used to grow our own firecrackers, too. Don''t let me forget to tell you about it. "Why, it''s a long spell to Fourth of July."My, wasn''t the next morning a scorcher The sun came out so hot that our hens laid fried eggs. But no, that wasn''t the Big Dry. The young''uns planted watermelons to cool off and beets to keep the mosquitoes away."Look " Polly exclaimed, pointing to the watermelons. "Pa, they''re rising off the ground "Rising? They began to float in the air like balloons We could hardly believe our eyes. And gracious me When we cut those melons open, it turned out they were full of hot air."Hee-haw " Heck Jones laughed. There he stood, jingling the rusty nails in his pocket."Better buy some rain nails. Only ten dollars apiece.""True, neighbor. And the weather''s double as dry."
關於作者：
Sid Fleischman wrote more than sixty books for children, adults, and magicians. Among his many awards was the Newbery Medal for his novel The Whipping Boy. The author described his wasted youth as a magician and newspaperman in his autobiography The Abracadabra Kid. His other titles include The Entertainer and the Dybbuk, a novel, and three biographies, Sir Charlie: Chaplin, The Funniest Man in the World; The Trouble Begins at 8: A Life of Mark Twain in the Wild, Wild West; and Escape! The Story of The Great Houdini.
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