"And I think we'll have enough to last us until Spring," he said, "and
perhaps have some for seed. Our garden has been a great success, even if
the hail did spoil some things and bugs and worms part of other crops."
The potatoes were really Uncle Pennywait's crop--at least he had planted
most of them and called them his, for the tomatoes were Daddy Blake's. And
Uncle Pennywait kept careful count of every quart and bushel of the
potatoes that were eaten, or put away for Winter.
"Because I want that ten dollar prize," he said.
Hal and Mab looked at one another anxiously.
"Who would win it?" they wondered.
Finally there were some cold, sharp frosts, so that the tomato and other
vines were all shriveled up when Hal and Mab went out to the garden to
look at them.
"Oh, Daddy! Will they straighten up again?" they asked.
"No. Their work is done. We shall have to plant new seeds to make new
vines, but we shall have to wait until Spring comes again. The earth is
soon going to sleep for the Winter, when nothing will grow in it. But it
is time to get in your corn and beans, children. You must cut your yellow
corn, Hal, and the other kind, too, and let the ears get dry, ready for
husking.
Pages:
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147