CROPS
The gardens did well that summer, and in September the little crops
were gathered in with much rejoicing. Jack and Ned joined their farms
and raised potatoes, those being a good salable article. They got
twelve bushels, counting little ones and all, and sold them to Mr.
Bhaer at a fair price, for potatoes went fast in that house. Emil and
Franz devoted themselves to corn, and had a jolly little husking in the
barn, after which they took their corn to the mill, and came proudly
home with meal enough to supply the family with hasty-pudding and
Johnny-cake for a long time. They would not take money for their crop;
because, as Franz said, “We never can pay Uncle for all he has done for
us if we raised corn for the rest of our days.”
Nat had beans in such abundance that he despaired of ever shelling
them, till Mrs. Jo proposed a new way, which succeeded admirably.
The dry pods were spread upon the barn-floor, Nat fiddled, and the
boys danced quadrilles on them, till they were thrashed out with much
merriment and very little labor.
Tommy’s six weeks’ beans were a failure; for a dry spell early in the
season hurt them, because he gave them no water; and after that he
was so sure that they could take care of themselves, he let the poor
things struggle with bugs and weeds till they were exhausted, and died
a lingering death. So Tommy had to dig his farm over again, and plant
peas. But they were late; the birds ate many; the bushes, not being
firmly planted, blew down, and when the poor peas came at last, no
one cared for them, as their day was over, and spring-lamb had grown
into mutton. Tommy consoled himself with a charitable effort; for he
transplanted all the thistles he could find, and tended them carefully
for Toby, who was fond of the prickly delicacy, and had eaten all he
could find on the place. The boys had great fun over Tom’s thistle
bed; but he insisted that it was better to care for poor Toby than
for himself, and declared that he would devote his entire farm next
year to thistles, worms, and snails, that Demi’s turtles and Nat’s pet
owl might have the food they loved, as well as the donkey. So like
shiftless, kind-hearted, happy-go-lucky Tommy!
Demi had supplied his grandmother with lettuce all summer, and in the
autumn sent his grandfather a basket of turnips, each one scrubbed up
till it looked like a great white egg. His Grandma was fond of salad,
and one of his Grandpa’s favorite quotations was--
“Lucullus, whom frugality could charm,
Ate roasted turnips at the Sabine farm.”
Therefore these vegetable offerings to the dear domestic god and
goddess were affectionate, appropriate, and classical.
Daisy had nothing but flowers in her little plot, and it bloomed all
summer long with a succession of gay or fragrant posies. She was very
fond of her garden, and delved away in it at all hours, watching over
her roses, and pansies, sweet-peas, and mignonette, as faithfully and
tenderly as she did over her dolls or her friends. Little nosegays were
sent into town on all occasions, and certain vases about the house
were her especial care. She had all sorts of pretty fancies about her
flowers, and loved to tell the children the story of the pansy, and
show them how the stepmother-leaf sat up in her green chair in purple
and gold; how the two own children in gay yellow had each its little
seat, while the step children, in dull colors, both sat on one small
stool, and the poor little father, in his red night-cap, was kept out
of sight in the middle of the flower; that a monk’s dark face looked
out of the monk’s-hood larkspur; that the flowers of the canary-vine
were so like dainty birds fluttering their yellow wings, that one
almost expected to see them fly away, and the snapdragons that went
off like little pistol-shots when you cracked them. Splendid dollies
did she make out of scarlet and white poppies, with ruffled robes
tied round the waist with grass blade sashes, and astonishing hats of
coreopsis on their green heads. Pea-pod boats, with rose-leaf sails,
received these flower-people, and floated them about a placid pool in
the most charming style; for finding that there were no elves, Daisy
made her own, and loved the fanciful little friends who played their
parts in her summer-life.
Nan went in for herbs, and had a fine display of useful plants, which
she tended with steadily increasing interest and care. Very busy was
she in September cutting, drying, and tying up her sweet harvest, and
writing down in a little book how the different herbs are to be used.
She had tried several experiments, and made several mistakes; so she
wished to be particular lest she should give little Huz another fit by
administering wormwood instead of catnip.
Dick, Dolly, and Rob each grubbed away on his small farm, and made more
stir about it than all the rest put together. Parsnips and carrots
were the crops of the two D.’s; and they longed for it to be late
enough to pull up the precious vegetables. Dick did privately examine
his carrots, and plant them again, feeling that Silas was right in
saying it was too soon for them yet.
Rob’s crop was four small squashes and one immense pumpkin. It really
was a “bouncer,” as every one said; and I assure you that two small
persons could sit on it side by side. It seemed to have absorbed all
the goodness of the little garden, and all the sunshine that shone
down on it, and lay there a great round, golden ball, full of rich
suggestions of pumpkin-pies for weeks to come. Robby was so proud of
his mammoth vegetable that he took every one to see it, and, when
frosts began to nip, covered it up each night with an old bedquilt,
tucking it round as if the pumpkin was a well-beloved baby. The day it
was gathered he would let no one touch it but himself, and nearly broke
his back tugging it to the barn in his little wheelbarrow, with Dick
and Dolly harnessed in front to give a heave up the path. His mother
promised him that the Thanksgiving-pies should be made from it, and
hinted vaguely that she had a plan in her head which would cover the
prize pumpkin and its owner with glory.
Poor Billy had planted cucumbers, but unfortunately hoed them up and
left the pig-weed. This mistake grieved him very much for ten minutes,
then he forgot all about it, and sowed a handful of bright buttons
which he had collected, evidently thinking in his feeble mind that they
were money, and would come up and multiply, so that he might make many
quarters, as Tommy did. No one disturbed him, and he did what he liked
with his plot, which soon looked as if a series of small earthquakes
had stirred it up. When the general harvest-day came, he would have
had nothing but stones and weeds to show, if kind old Asia had not hung
half-a-dozen oranges on the dead tree he had stuck up in the middle.
Billy was delighted with his crop; and no one spoiled his pleasure
in the little miracle which pity wrought for him, by making withered
branches bear strange fruit.
Stuffy had various trials with his melons; for, being impatient to
taste them, he had a solitary revel before they were ripe, and made
himself so ill, that for a day or two it seemed doubtful if he would
ever eat any more. But he pulled through it, and served up his first
cantelope without tasting a mouthful himself. They were excellent
melons, for he had a warm slope for them, and they ripened fast. The
last and best were lingering on the vines, and Stuffy had announced
that he should sell them to a neighbor. This disappointed the boys,
who had hoped to eat the melons themselves, and they expressed their
displeasure in a new and striking manner. Going one morning to gaze
upon the three fine watermelons which he had kept for the market,
Stuffy was horrified to find the word “PIG” cut in white letters on the
green rind, staring at him from every one. He was in a great rage, and
flew to Mrs. Jo for redress. She listened, condoled with him, and then
said,--
“If you want to turn the laugh, I’ll tell you how, but you must give up
the melons.”
“Well, I will; for I can’t thrash all the boys, but I’d like to give
them something to remember, the mean sneaks,” growled Stuffy, still in
a fume.
Now Mrs. Jo was pretty sure who had done the trick, for she had seen
three heads suspiciously near to one another in the sofa-corner
the evening before; and when these heads had nodded with chuckles
and whispers, this experienced woman knew that mischief was afoot.
A moonlight night, a rustling in the old cherry-tree near Emil’s
window, a cut on Tommy’s finger, all helped to confirm her suspicions;
and having cooled Stuffy’s wrath a little, she bade him bring his
maltreated melons to her room, and say not a word to any one of what
had happened. He did so, and the three wags were amazed to find their
joke so quietly taken. It spoilt the fun, and the entire disappearance
of the melons made them uneasy. So did Stuffy’s good-nature, for he
looked more placid and plump than ever, and surveyed them with an air
of calm pity that perplexed them much.
At dinner-time they discovered why; for then Stuffy’s vengeance fell
upon them, and the laugh _was_ turned against them. When the pudding
was eaten, and the fruit was put on, Mary Ann re-appeared in a high
state of giggle, bearing a large watermelon; Silas followed with
another; and Dan brought up the rear with a third. One was placed
before each of the three guilty lads; and they read on the smooth green
skin this addition to their work, “With the compliments of the PIG.”
Every one else read it also, and the whole table was in a roar, for the
trick had been whispered about; so every one understood the sequel.
Emil, Ned, and Tommy did not know where to look, and had not a word
to say for themselves; so they wisely joined in the laugh, cut up the
melons, and handed them round, saying, what all the rest agreed to,
that Stuffy had taken a wise and merry way to return good for evil.
Dan had no garden, for he was away or lame the greater part of the
summer; so he had helped Silas wherever he could, chopped wood for
Asia, and taken care of the lawn so well, that Mrs. Jo always had
smooth paths and nicely shaven turf before her door.
When the others got in their crops, he looked sorry that he had so
little to show; but as autumn went on, he bethought of a woodland
harvest which no one would dispute with him, and which was peculiarly
his own. Every Saturday he was away alone to forests, fields, and
hills, and always came back loaded with spoils; for he seemed to know
the meadows where the best flag-root grew, the thicket where the
sassafras was spiciest, the haunts where the squirrels went for nuts,
the white oak whose bark was most valuable, and the little gold-thread
vine that Nursey liked to cure the canker with. All sorts of splendid
red and yellow leaves did Dan bring home for Mrs. Jo to dress her
parlor with,--graceful-seeded grasses, clematis tassels, downy, soft,
yellow wax-work berries, and mosses, red-brimmed, white, or emerald
green.
“I need not sigh for the woods now, because Dan brings the woods to
me,” Mrs. Jo used to say, as she glorified the walls with yellow maple
boughs and scarlet woodbine wreaths, or filled her vases with russet
fern, hemlock sprays full of delicate cones, and hardy autumn flowers;
for Dan’s crop suited her well.
The great garret was full of the children’s little stores, and for a
time was one of the sights of the house. Daisy’s flower seeds in neat
little paper bags, all labelled, lay in the drawer of a three-legged
table. Nan’s herbs hung in bunches against the wall, filling the air
with their aromatic breath. Tommy had a basket of thistledown with the
tiny seeds attached, for he meant to plant them next year, if they did
not all fly away before that time. Emil had bunches of pop-corn hanging
there to dry, and Demi laid up acorns and different sorts of grain for
the pets. But Dan’s crop made the best show, for fully one half of the
floor was covered with nuts he brought. All kinds were there, for he
ranged the woods for miles round, climbed the tallest trees, and forced
his way into the thickest hedges for his plunder. Walnuts, chestnuts,
hazelnuts, and beechnuts lay in separate compartments, getting brown,
and dry, and sweet, ready for winter revels.
There was one butternut-tree on the place, and Rob and Teddy called it
theirs. It bore well this year, and the great dingy nuts came dropping
down to hide among the dead leaves, where the busy squirrels found them
better than the lazy Bhaers. Their father had told them (the boys, not
the squirrels) they should have the nuts if they would pick them up,
but no one was to help. It was easy work, and Teddy liked it, only he
soon got tired, and left his little basket half full for another day.
But the other day was slow to arrive, and, meantime, the sly squirrels
were hard at work scampering up and down the old elm-trees stowing the
nuts away till their holes were full, then all about in the crotches
of the boughs, to be removed at their leisure. Their funny little ways
amused the boys, till one day Silas said,--
“Hev you sold them nuts to the squirrels?”
“No,” answered Rob, wondering what Silas meant.
“Wal, then, you’d better fly round, or them spry little fellers won’t
leave you none.”
“Oh, we can beat them when we begin. There are such lots of nuts we
shall have a plenty.”
“There ain’t many more to come down, and they have cleared the ground
pretty well, see if they hain’t.”
Robby ran to look, and was alarmed to find how few remained. He called
Teddy, and they worked hard all one afternoon, while the squirrels sat
on the fence and scolded.
“Now, Ted, we must keep watch, and pick up just as fast as they fall,
or we shan’t have more than a bushel, and every one will laugh at us if
we don’t.”
“The naughty quillies tarn’t have ’em. I’ll pick fast and run and put
’em in the barn twick,” said Teddy, frowning at little Frisky, who
chattered and whisked his tail indignantly.
That night a high wind blew down hundreds of nuts, and when Mrs. Jo
came to wake her little sons, she said, briskly,--
“Come, my laddies, the squirrels are hard at it, and you will have to
work well to-day, or they will have every nut on the ground.”
“No, they won’t,” and Robby tumbled up in a great hurry, gobbled his
breakfast, and rushed out to save his property.
Teddy went too, and worked like a little beaver, trotting to and fro
with full and empty baskets. Another bushel was soon put away in the
corn-barn, and they were scrambling among the leaves for more nuts when
the bell rang for school.
“O father! let me stay out and pick. Those horrid squirrels will have
my nuts if you don’t. I’ll do my lessons by and by,” cried Rob, running
into the school-room, flushed and tousled by the fresh cold wind and
his eager work.
“If you had been up early and done a little every morning there would
be no hurry now. I told you that, Rob, and you never minded. I cannot
have the lessons neglected as the work has been. The squirrels will get
more than their share this year, and they deserve it, for they have
worked best. You may go an hour earlier, but that is all,” and Mr.
Bhaer led Rob to his place, where the little man dashed at his books
as if bent on making sure of the precious hour promised him.
It was almost maddening to sit still and see the wind shaking down
the last nuts, and the lively thieves flying about, pausing now and
then to eat one in his face, and flirt their tails, as if they said,
saucily, “We’ll have them in spite of you, lazy Rob.” The only thing
that sustained the poor child in this trying moment was the sight of
Teddy working away all alone. It was really splendid the pluck and
perseverance of the little lad. He picked and picked till his back
ached; he trudged to and fro till his small legs were tired; and he
defied wind, weariness, and wicked “quillies,” till his mother left
her work and did the carrying for him, full of admiration for the kind
little fellow who tried to help his brother. When Rob was dismissed he
found Teddy reposing in the bushel-basket quite used up, but unwilling
to quit the field; for he flapped his hat at the thieves with one
grubby little hand, while he refreshed himself with the big apple held
in the other.
Rob fell to work and the ground was cleared before two o’clock, the
nuts safely in the corn-barn loft, and the weary workers exulted in
their success. But Frisky and his wife were not to be vanquished so
easily; and when Rob went up to look at his nuts a few days later he
was amazed to see how many had vanished. None of the boys could have
stolen them, because the door had been locked; the doves could not have
eaten them, and there were no rats about. There was great lamentation
among the young Bhaers till Dick said--
“I saw Frisky on the roof of the corn-barn, may be he took them.”
“I know he did! I’ll have a trap, and kill him dead,” cried Rob,
disgusted with Frisky’s grasping nature.
“Perhaps, if you watch, you can find out where he puts them, and I may
be able to get them back for you,” said Dan, who was much amused by the
fight between the boys and squirrels.
So Rob watched and saw Mr. and Mrs. Frisky drop from the drooping elm
boughs on to the roof of the corn-barn, dodge in at one of the little
doors, much to the disturbance of the doves, and come out with a nut
in each mouth. So laden they could not get back the way they came, but
ran down the low roof, along the wall, and leaping off at a corner they
vanished a minute and re-appeared without their plunder. Rob ran to
the place, and in a hollow under the leaves found a heap of the stolen
property hidden away to be carried off to the holes by and by.
“Oh, you little villains! I’ll cheat _you_ now, and not leave one,”
said Rob. So he cleared the corner and the corn-barn, and put the
contested nuts in the garret, making sure that no broken window-pane
could anywhere let in the unprincipled squirrels. They seemed to feel
that the contest was over, and retired to their hole, but now and then
could not resist throwing down nut-shells on Rob’s head, and scolding
violently as if they could not forgive him nor forget that he had the
best of the battle.
Father and Mother Bhaer’s crop was of a different sort, and not so
easily described; but they were satisfied with it, felt that their
summer work had prospered well, and by and by had a harvest that made
them very happy.