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
lone 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