"ALONG about now," said Caleb to Philip and Grace one morning in
midspring, "is the easiest time o' year that a merchant ever gets in
these parts; for, between the earliest ploughin' for spring wheat to
the latest ploughin' for corn, the farmers that 'mount to anythin' are
too busy to come to town when the weather's good; when the rain gives
'em a day off from work, they've got sense enough to take a rest as
well as to give one to the hosses. I thought I'd mention the matter, in
case you'd had anythin' on your mind to be done, an' hadn't found time
to do it."
"H'm!" said Philip, rubbing his forehead, as if to extract some special
mental memoranda.
"Thank you, Caleb, for the suggestion," Grace said, "but I believe
every foot of our garden ground is fully planted."
"Yes, so I've noticed. Twill be a big advertisement, too, if the things
turn out as good as the pictur's an' readin' matter in the plant
catalogues you got; for there ain't many things in them boxes of plants
you bought that was ever seen or heerd of in these parts. How'd you
come to know so much about such things?"
"Oh, I kept window-gardens in the city all summer, and indoor gardens
in winter."
"I want to know! What give you that idee?"
"The beauty of flowers, I suppose--and their cheapness," Grace replied.
"Besides, flowers in the winter were a good test of the air in our
rooms, for air that kills plants is not likely to be good enough for
human beings."
"Je--ru--salem! I must tell that to Doc Taggess, so that word about it
can get to some of our country folks. Some of them keep their houses
so tight shut in winter that the folks come out powerful peaked in the
spring, just when they need all the stren'th they can get. But ain't
you got nothin' else on your mind to do, besides exercisin' your hoss
once in a while?"
As he asked the question his eyes strayed from Grace to Philip, and
an amused expression came over the little man's face, so that Grace
asked:--
"What is so funny in Philip's appearance?"
"Nothin'," said Caleb, quickly pretending to arrange the goods on a
shelf.
"Don't say 'Nothing' in that tantalizing way, when your every feature
is saying that there is something."
"Out with it, Caleb," said Philip. "I promise that I shan't feel
offended."
"Well, the fact is, I was thinkin' o' somethin' I overheard you tell
your uncle, first time you came here. He asked you what you was goin'
to the city for. 'To continue my studies,' says you. 'What studies?'
says he. 'Literature an' art,' says you. Then Jethro come pretty nigh
to bustin' hisself. After you was gone he borried some cyclopeedy
volumes from Doc Taggess, an' in odd moments he opened 'em at long
pieces that was headed 'Literature' an' 'Art.' I watched him pretty
close, to know when he was through, so I could pump him about 'em, for
his sake as well as mine; for I've most generally found that a man
ain't sure of what he knows till he has to tell it to somebody else.
But Jethro would most generally drop asleep 'long about the second or
third page, an' one day he slapped one of the books shut an' hollered,
'Dog-goned nonsense!' Like enough he was wrong about it, though, for
afterwards I dipped into the same pieces myself, a little bit at a
time, and 'peared to me there was a mighty lot of pleasant things in
the subjects, if one could spend his whole life huntin' for 'em."
"You're quite right as to the general fact," said Philip, "and also as
to the time that may be given to it."
"Am, eh? Glad I sized it up so straight. Well, then, I reckon you
didn't finish the job in the city, an' that you're still peggin' away
at it."