The old man couldn’t hear what they were saying over the noise of the water. He merely scowled in return. Just then, his phone started ringing inside the house. He put down the hose, and went to answer it.

Fishel and Faivish looked longingly over the wall. The same thought crossed both their minds. It would take just a moment to climb over the wall and have a go with the hose. Mr. Krankowitz was busy on the phone and surely wouldn’t notice a thing.

But just then the old man came scurrying out.

“Listen!” he said to the brothers. “I’ve just received an important call. The fish store got in some fresh kippers for me. I have to pick them up before they close. Can you fellas water my flowers?”

“Of course!” replied Fishel eagerly.

“Certainly!” echoed Faivish.

The brothers both disliked the taste and smell of kippers, but they couldn’t wait to use the hose.

They hoisted themselves up over the garden wall, although Mr Krankowitz would have much preferred them to come in through the door. Then they seized the spurting hose as the old man shuffled off.

At first, all went well and they worked diligently. Then Fishel jerked the hose closer to himself. A jet of water hit Faivish in the eye.

“Hey! Watch it!” he yelled. He jerked the hose back, splashing Fishel’s nose. That was it. The brothers forgot all about watering the flowerbeds, and instead tried to drench each other.

Eventually they got fed up.

“Let’s do something else,” suggested Fishel. “I know what! Let’s surprise Mr. Krankowitz by weeding the flowerbeds.”

Faivish had to admit it was a good idea. The brothers dropped to the ground and started weeding. Fast and furiously they worked, pulling out weeds left, right, and center.

Just then, there was an angry roar. The brothers jumped.

“What are you two ruffians doing?”

Uh-oh. The old man was back.

He shook his stick furiously. The garden path was strewn with uprooted flowers, planted with great care by Mr. Krankowitz, but all deemed “weeds” by the inexpert gardeners. The hose spurted water aimlessly up in the air.

“Get out!” shouted Mr. Krankowitz furiously.

Fishel and Faivish didn’t stop to argue. They vaulted straight back over the garden fence.

“Yikes!

“Double yikes!”

“Do you think he’ll tell Daddy?”

“We’ve gotta do something, quickly.”

“Let’s call Jolly Solly.”

“He’s away until next week.”

“Oh no!”

The old man pricked up his ears at the sound of the clown’s name. Maybe Jolly Solly would put those rascals in their place! His eyes roamed over the depleted flowerbeds. Oho! What was that glinting in the earth? Mr. Krankowitz bent stiffly to see — and gave a cry of delight!

Why, it was the metal bit that had fallen off his favorite pipe. Mr. Krankowitz had had to resort to one of those dreadful, newfangled pipes instead. It must have dropped in the dirt, and been uncovered by Fishel and Faivish.

“Hey! You there!” he called over the fence.

Fishel and Faivish were surprised at the old man’s tone. It actually sounded quite friendly. What was going on?

“Thanks for your assistance earlier, boys,” he declared. “Don’t worry about the flowers. I’m sure you…uh…meant to be helpful.”

He beckoned to the astounded pair. “You deserve a treat. How about some nice grilled kippers?”

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 854)