GARDENS AND GOPHERS

“Have you got any more corn or potatoes to drop, or onion sets to cover, or radishes and beans and turnips to plant, or wheat or barley to scatter, or or anything else to do?” Peace panted breathlessly one warm Saturday afternoon late in May.

“No,” smiled Gail, looking tenderly down into the flushed, perspiring face. “You girls have worked faithfully all day, and now you can rest awhile. Mike is coming next week to finish the planting.”

“Can may we fix our own gardens, then? Mr. Kennedy gave me a whole lot of seed the gove’nment sent him to plant, but he can’t, ’cause he’s going to Alaska.”

“Government seed! What kinds?”

“Cucumbers and beets, and parsley and carrots and ”

“But, child, we have all of those in our big garden now. I thought you wanted your little plot of ground for flowers?”

“I do. One of these packages is sweet peas.”

“Oh, dearie, I guess you have made a mistake. Mr. Kennedy wouldn’t have any use for sweet pea seed.”

“Hope said that was the name on the package.”

“Well, then I suppose they are, though I never heard tell of the Kennedys raising flowers before. Sweet peas ought to be planted along a fence. We will have Mike dig a little trench just inside the front yard fence, and plant the peas there.”

Peace’s face fell, but she offered no objections to the plan, and Gail straightway forgot all about it. Not so with the enthusiastic, youthful planter, however; and, while the older sister was bustling about the hot kitchen, the curly, brown head was bobbing energetically back and forth in the front yard, where she and Cherry were digging a trench as fast as they could turn the sod with an old broken spade and a discarded fire-shovel; while Allee followed in their wake, dropping the seed into the freshly-turned earth and carefully covering them again.

“Mercy, but this yard is big!” sighed weary Peace, as she began digging along the third and last side. “Have you got enough left to stick in here, Allee?”

“This is all,” answered the blue-eyed toiler, displaying a handful of flat, black seed in her apron.

“Those don’t look like peas,” cried Cherry, pausing to examine the queer-looking things. “All I ever saw were round.”

“Garden peas are round,” answered Peace, with a knowing air, “but these are sweet peas, and they are flat.”

“Did you ever see any before?” demanded Cherry suspiciously, nettled by her sister’s manner.

“No o, but doesn’t the sack they were in say ‘sweet peas?’”

It certainly did, there was no disputing that fact, so Cherry discreetly remained silent, and began her vigorous shoveling once more.

When the supper hour was announced the shallow, uneven trench was completed, the seeds all covered, and three dirty gardeners perched in a row on the fence, planning out the list of customers who would buy the sweet blossoms when the vines had matured.

“There’s the horn for supper,” said Cherry.

“And I know Mrs. Lacy will be glad to get them sometimes, ’cause she hasn’t any flowers at all,” continued Peace, ignoring the interruption. “That makes ten people.”

“Well, hurry up! I am hungry, and we’ll have to wash before Gail will give us anything to eat,” cried the tallest girl impatiently. “I’ll race you to the pump.”

“You are late,” Hope greeted them, when, after a noisy splashing and hasty wiping of faces, they entered the room. “Doesn’t Allée’s face look funny with that black streak around it where she didn’t hit the dirt? What have you been doing to get so warm?”

“Planting sweet peas,” answered Allee.

“Oh, Peace! After I said we would have Mike dig a trench by the fence!”

“You didn’t say we couldn’t plant them, Gail. We dug it so’s to save Mike the trouble. Anyway, the seeds ought to be in the ground by this time if they are ever going to blossom this year, and Mike is so slow. We thought it was best not to wait. When do you s’pose they will come up?”

“Oh, in about two or three weeks, maybe,” Gail answered. “You better rub your arms well with liniment before you go to bed tonight, or you will be so lame tomorrow you can’t move.”

The incident was closed, and the sweet peas forgotten until one day about three weeks later Hope called excitedly from the front yard, “Gail, Gail, come here! What ever are these plants coming up all along the fence? They are not sweet peas.”

Gail came, examined the fat sprouts and looked at Hope in comical dismay. “They are pumpkins or cucumbers or melons, and the whole front fence is lined with them!”

“Poor Peace!” said Hope, when their laugh had ended. “She will be heartbroken. She made her fortune a dozen times over on the blossoms those vines are to bear.”

“Yes,” sighed Gail. “She has the happy faculty of trying to do one thing and getting some unexpected, unheard-of result. Poor little blunderbus! But what shall we do with these plants? There are enough to stock a ranch. We can’t leave them here, and I don’t think they will bear transplanting.”

“And so they ain’t sweet peas at all!” exclaimed a disappointed voice behind them, and there stood Peace herself, contemplating her treasures with solemn eyes.

“No, dear, they are pumpkins, I guess. What kind of seed did you plant?”

“I planted sweet pea seed,” came the mournful reply. “Leastways the sack said so. Hope read it herself.”

“Yes, the sack was labelled plainly, but I never thought to examine the seed. What did they look like?”

“They were black and flat.”

“Melons,” said Gail. “Well, I would rather have melons than pumpkins, for we already have planted a lot of them. Still, it will spoil these to transplant them, so they might just as well have been pumpkins. It is a shame to have to throw them all away, though.”

Peace said nothing, but in bitterness of heart helped pull up all the green sprouts and throw them over the fence. Then she sat down beside the heap to mourn over her fallen aircastles.

“Seems ’s if I can’t do anything like other folks,” she sighed dismally. “I plant sweet peas and get melons. I wonder if melons wouldn’t sell better than peas. Gail says these won’t grow, but I am going to try them anyway.”

She filled her apron with the hapless plants and carried them away to her small garden plot behind the shed, where she patiently set out every one, regardless of the flower seeds already hid beneath the soil. And, strange to say, they grew, at least many of them did, choking out the poppies and marigolds and balsams which finally climbed through the three inches of ground the zealous gardener had hid them under, and formed a thick tangle of promising vines.

Then the gophers began their destructive work, tunnelling the little farm into a perfect labyrinth of underground passages, much to the dismay of the little household, so dependent upon the success of their crops. Traps were set, the holes were flooded, cats by the score were let loose in the fields, but still the little pests continued to dig, as if laughing at the futile attempts made to get rid of them. At length Gail sighed, “I am afraid we will have to resort to poisoned grain. I hate to, because I am so afraid the children will get into it, or something dreadful happen on account of it.”

“I don’t see how either the youngsters or even the hens could get at it if it was put down the holes,” said Faith. “Say nothing about it but fix up a mess and Hope and I will drop it some day when the children are away and the hens in their yard.”

So Gail mixed up a huge bucket full of poisoned grain, and while the younger trio were gathering flowers in the woods one afternoon, the other sisters sallied forth with their deadly bait, bent on exterminating their small foes.

All might have gone well had not the smaller girls suddenly decided to play hare and hound, and it fell to Peace’s lot to be the hare. With an apron full of gay dandelion blossoms for the trail, the active little body set out on a wide detour of the woods, across the bridge, up through the Hartman pasture land, reaching the barbed wire fence on their own little farm just in time to see Hope dropping a last handful of grain into a gopher hole before returning to the house with her empty pail.

“Now what has she been doing?” thought Peace, peering out from a thicket of hazel bushes. “Oh, I know! I bet she is trying to poison the gophers, like Mr. Hartman did. I wonder if they will come up after the corn right away. I am going to watch. I’d like to see how it kills them.”

She carefully wriggled her way under the lower wire, and sat down in front of the nearest gopher mound, forgetting all about her dandelions, sisters, and play, in the prospect of witnessing the death of one of the enemy. But either Mr. Gopher was not at home, or else he suspected the presence of an unwelcome caller, for he did not come up in sight for even a nibble of the tempting corn; and at last, weary of her fruitless vigil, Peace cried aloud, “He prob’ly can get all he wants without letting me see him. I’m going to dig it all out on top, so he will have to come out in sight.”

She quickly scratched the poisoned bait out of the runway, scattered it liberally about, and settled back in her former position, with her eyes glued on the mouth of the tunnel; but still Mr. Gopher did not come.

“You tiresome old thing!” she exclaimed impatiently, after what seemed hours of waiting. “I shan’t watch for you another minute. I’ll find another hole and see if they will do any better there.” So from mound to mound she scurried, digging the grain up into view, and then watching for the appearance of the tenant with no result.

“Well, of all provoking people!” cried an indignant voice behind her, and there were Cherry and Allee crawling under the fence. “How long have you been sitting there like a bump on a log? You didn’t drop enough dandelions, and we had an awful time following you. What on earth are you doing here? Let’s go up to the pump for a drink. I am nearly burned up.” Without giving the weary Peace a chance to answer her questions, she raced away through the pasture toward the house, dragging Allee with her; and the third girl, after one last, hopeless glance at the gopher hole, followed more slowly.

Some time later Hope came tearing across the field, with hair flying, and her eyes filled with alarm, calling shrilly, “Gail, Faith, the hens have broken out of the yard and are eating the poisoned grain! There are more than a dozen down there now!”

“Oh, dear,” cried Peace, with guilty conscience, “I scratched the corn out of the holes so’s I could watch the gophers die. And I let the hens out, too, ’cause they looked so hot shut up in that mite of a yard after they have been running loose for so long.”

With despairing eyes, Gail looked down at the dying fowls, and not daring to trust herself to speak, she hurried away to the house to sob out her grief alone.

Faith paused long enough to count the hapless hens, clutched the wretched culprit and shook her vigorously, then silently followed her older sister, leaving the heartbroken child alone with the victims of her curiosity.

“Did you ever see my equal?” she said aloud, addressing herself. “You are the worst child that ever lived! You wash the labels off the spice boxes so Faith gets ginger instead of mustard in her salad dressing; you try to milk cows and break their legs instead; you spoil cakes and steal eggs and bother Gail and Faith till they are nearly crazy; and now you’ve taken to killing hens just to see how gophers die. Peace Greenfield, aren’t you ashamed of yourself? Yes, I am, but there’s no use in wasting those perfectly good hens twenty of them we had only forty in all. It’s a wonder the rest of them didn’t get a dose, too. Hope has got them locked up at last. There comes Cherry; I’ll make her help. Oh, Cherry, here’s a job for you!”

“What is it? And why are the girls crying? They wouldn’t tell me.”

“I’ve killed a lot of hens for them, playing hare and hound. That’s the very last time I will ever be hare, Charity Greenfield! Help me undress these chickens. We’ll have some for supper, and the rest we’ll peddle to the town folks.”

“Oh, Peace, I can’t pull feathers! It makes me shiver every time a bunch comes out in my hands.”

“You will have to. You don’t expect me to pick them all, do you? I guess the girls never thought of selling the hens, and I can’t ask them to help now. We will get the ax and chop off their heads and then hang them in the crab-apple tree while we strip them. You really must help, Cherry. Gail says they pick better while they are warm.”

She hunted up the ax, and one by one hacked off poor biddies’ heads; but when it came to the picking process, they found it was slow work for small, inexperienced fingers, and gave up in despair when the third nude body lay in the grass at their feet.

“It is almost night, Peace, and we’ve picked three. What shall we do? ’Twill take us hours to finish that whole bunch.”

“We’ll sell them for as much as we can get, and see if the butcher won’t take the rest with the feathers on. We can keep two or three for ourselves. Where is Allée’s cart?”

All that remained of the poison victims were loaded into the small wagon, and their strange pilgrimage through the village streets began. The picked fowls were readily disposed of, and one neighbor bought the largest of the feathered birds, but no one else wanted to bother with them, and it was only after much persuasion that the butcher consented to take six, at the fancy price of twenty-five cents each.

“Well, that is better than nothing, though he wouldn’t sell me one for that little last Christmas,” sighed Peace, much disappointed at the result of their peddling. “Three dollars and fifty cents will buy quite a few chickens, and chickens make hens if you give them time. What do you s’pose Gail will say when we give her the money?”

They were not long in finding out. The two red-eyed girls were busy in the kitchen when the children returned with the unsold hens in the wagon; and with fear and trembling, Peace laid the coins on the table, saying humbly, “Mrs. Munson took one, and Mrs. Bainbridge, and Mrs. Edwards and Mrs. Lacy, and the butcher bought six. That’s all the hens we could sell. We left three here for supper and ”

“Peace Greenfield!” shrieked the horrified sisters in unison. “Did you sell those poisoned hens? You march straight upstairs to bed and Cherry, too!” Then Gail flew one way and Faith the other, to collect the birds before the buyers had a chance to dish up the delicacy to adored families.

When they had seen the last fowl safely disposed of, and were home once more, Gail said despairingly, “I don’t know what in the world to do with that child!”

“She needs a good, sound thrashing,” answered Faith sharply. “She gets into more mischief in a day than a monkey would in a month.”

“She doesn’t mean to,” pleaded Gail. “Mother never believed in whipping. If it were mischief for mischief’s sake, I could punish her, but her intentions are good ”

“Good intentions don’t amount to much in her case. A good trouncing might make her think a little more.”

“I can’t whip her, Faith, but I’ll go up and lecture her good. I believe that will be more effective than harshness.”

So the perplexed mother-sister mounted the stairs to the chamber above, from which sounded a low murmur of voices, and she paused in the hallway to assemble her thoughts, when Peace’s words, evidently in supplication, floated out through the open door: “And, O Lord, don’t blame Gail for getting mad. It’s the first time I can remember. She is usu’ly very good. S’posing she was a stepmother, like lame Jennie Munn’s, wouldn’t we have a time living with her, though? And I am truly sorry about the hens. Hope says we can’t get many eggs now, ’cause half of the flock is gone, and if we keep all our customers we will have to do without eggs here at home. I don’t mind that at all myself, ’cause I’ve eaten eggs and eggs till it makes me sick to hunt them now; but what will Faith do for her cakes? That’s what is worrying me. It was so we could buy more live hens that Cherry and me sold the dead ones. We didn’t know they would make people sick, and p’r’aps kill them, too. I am sorry the money had to go back and that the hens are just wasted now, but I ’xpect they’ll make an elegant funeral tomorrow. So forgive Gail and keep her from getting mad any more, and forgive me and keep me from being bad any more, and make us ‘happy children in a happy home.’ Amen.”

Softly, silently, Gail stole down the stairs again, with her lecture unsaid.