o be reset in the garden plat
later.

This "handling" of celery aids its growth and development in a most
wonderful manner. At the second transplanting, Hiram snipped back the
tops, and the roots as well, so that each plant would grow sturdily and
not be too "stalky".

Mrs. Atterson declared they were all celery mad. "Whatever will you do
with so much of the stuff, I haven't the least idee, Hiram. Can you sell
it all? Why, it looks to me as though you had set out enough already to
glut the Crawberry market."

"And I guess that's right," returned Hiram. "Especially if I shipped it
all at once."

But he was aiming higher than the Crawberry market. He had been in
correspondence with firms that handled celery exclusively in some of the
big cities, and before ever he put the plow into the bottom-land he
had arranged for the marketing of every stalk he could grow on his six
acres.

It was a truth that the family of transplanted boarding house people
worked harder this second spring than they had the first one. But they
knew how better, too, and the garden work did not seem so arduous to
Sister and Old Lem Camp.

Mrs. Atterson had a fine flock of hens, and they had laid well after the
first of December, and the eggs had brought good prices. She planned to
increase her flock, build larger yards, and in time make a business of
poultry raising, as that would be something that she and Sister could
practically handle alone.

Sister's turkeys had thrived so the year before that she had saved two
hens and a handsome gobbler, and determined to breed turkeys for the
fall market.

And Sister learned a few things before she had raised "that raft
of poults," as Mother Atterson called them. Turkeys are certainly
calculated to breed patience--especially if one expects to have a flock
of young Toms and hens fit for killing at Thanksgiving-time.

She hatched the turkeys under motherly hens belonging to Mother
Atterson, striving to breed poults that would not trail so far from the
house; but as soon as the youngsters began to feel their wings they had
their foster-mothers pretty well worn out. One flock tolled the old hen
off at least a mile from the house and Hiram had some work enticing the
poults back again.

There was no raid made upon her turkey coops this year, however. Pete
Dickerson was not much in evidence during the spring and early summer.
Mrs. Atterson went back and forth to the neighbors; but although
whenever Hiram