noon to dinner. It is our Gertie's birthday.
She is thirteen to-day. In a rash moment we promised her a treat or
surprise of some sort, but really the only surprise I can think of in
such an out-of-the-way place is to have a dinner-party in her honour.
Will you come?"

The brothers at once agreed to do so, remarking, however, that they must
complete the sowing of their carrot-seed before dinner if possible.

"What did you say you were sowing?" asked Brook, with a peculiar smile.

"Carrot-seed," answered Robert Skyd.

"If your carrot-seed is sown _there_," said George Dally, pointing with
a broad grin to the trench, "it's very likely to come up in England
about the time it does here,--by sendin' its roots right through the
world!"

"How? what do you mean?"

"The truth is, my dear sir," said Brook good-humouredly, "that you've
made a slight mistake in this matter. Carrot-seed is usually sown in
trenches less than an inch deep. You'd better leave off work just now
and come over to my place at once. I'll give you some useful hints as
we walk along."

The knights of the quill laughed at their mistake, and at once threw
down their implements of husbandry. But on going over their farm, Brook
found it necessary to correct a few more mistakes, for he discovered
that the active brothers had already planted a large quantity of Indian
corn, or "mealies," entire, without knocking it off the cobs, and, in
another spot of ground, a lot of young onions were planted with the
roots upwards!

"You see, Miss Gertie," said John Skyd, when commenting modestly on
these mistakes at dinnertime, "my brothers and I have all our lives had
more to do with the planting of `houses' and the growth of commercial
enterprise than with agricultural products, but we are sanguine that,
with experience and perseverance, we shall overcome all our
difficulties. Have _you_ found many difficulties to overcome!"

Gertie was not sure; she thought she had found a few, but none worth
mentioning. Being somewhat put out by the question, she picked up a
pebble--for the dinner was a species of picnic, served on the turf in
front of Mr Brook's tent--and examined it with almost geological care.

"My daughter does not like to admit the existence of difficulties," said
Mrs Brook, coming to the rescue, "and to say truth is seldom overcome
by anything."

"Oh, ma, how can you?" said Gertie, blushing deeply.

"That's not true," cried Mr Brook; "excuse me,