and keep the boys company,
and we'll see if we don't 'sarcumvent the rascals' yet."

And we _did_ save the corn, and sell it too at a good price, the hotels
in the neighborhood being glad to get possession of the rarity. Hope was
radiant at the result of her determination: the Pessimist smiled a grim
approval when she counted up and displayed her bank-notes and silver.

"A few years more of mistakes and losses, Hope, and you'll make quite a
farmer," he condescended to acknowledge. "But do you think you have
exhausted the catalogue of animal pests?"

"No," said Hope, laughing. "I never dared to tell you about the Irish
potatoes. Something has eaten them all up: Uncle Spafford says it is
gophers."

"What is a gopher?" asked Merry. "Is it any relation to the gryphon?"

"It is a sagacious variety of snapping-turtle," replied the Invalid,
"which walks about seeking what it may devour."

"And devours my potatoes," said Hope. "But we have got the better of the
rabbits and the coons, and I don't despair next year even of the gophers
and salamanders."

"Even victory may be purchased too dearly," said the Pessimist.

"After all, the experiment has not been so expensive a one," said the
Invalid, laying down the neatly-kept farm-ledger, which he had been
examining. "The orange trees are a good investment--our one bearing tree
has proved that--and as for the money our farming experiment has cost
us, we should have spent as much, I dare say, had we lived at the hotel,
and not have been one half as comfortable."

"It _is_ a cozy little home," admitted the Pessimist, looking about the
pretty room, now thrown wide open to the early summer and with a huge
pot of creamy magnolia-blooms in the great chimney.

"It is the pleasantest winter I ever spent," said Merry
enthusiastically.

"Except that dreadful evening when the account of the peas came," said
Hope, drawing a long breath. "But I should like to try it again: I shall
never be quite satisfied till I have made peas and cucumbers
profitable."

"Then, all I have to say is, that you are destined to drag out an
unsatisfied existence," said the Pessimist.

"I am not so sure of that," said the Invalid.

And so we turned our faces northward, not without a lingering sorrow at
leaving the home where we had spent so many sweet and sunny days.

"Good-bye, Paradise Plantation," said Merry as the little white house
under the live-oak receded from our view as we stood upon the ste