Winter comes back and nips
the trusting little creatures. Cotton doesn't fancy that sort of joke.
Nor does it like too much wet weather, for then the cotton gets damp
and sodden and cannot be picked. Should it be gathered in this
condition it would mold and mildew, and become a wreck."

"It sounds to me as if cotton raising was pretty hard work," sighed
Tim.

"Oh, no harder than are most other things, Timmie," returned Uncle
Frederick. "Generally speaking cotton plants sail along safely enough
unless a pest attacks them. That is their greatest menace. When a pest
descends on the crop the grower does lose courage, I can tell you. It
is queer to think what damage a crowd of tiny insects can do, isn't it?
Some of them will bore through the pods as if in pure spite and spoil
the cotton fiber at the time it is just beginning to form--a detestable
trick! Others, fattening on the tender green leaves near the top of the
plant, will turn into caterpillars, creep down the stalk, and devour
every leaf as they go along. This leaves the roots of the plant
unprotected from the sun and speedily every particle of moisture on
which the growth is so dependent is dried up. So the plants shrivel and
die. Then there are beetles, locusts, grasshoppers, and all the rest of
the army of trouble-makers who wait to steal a march on the unwatchful
planter. All these rebels must be kept their distance if you would
harvest a big cotton crop."

"I guess I never would have any cotton," remarked the disheartened Tim.

"Oh, yes, you would, son," laughed his uncle. "Surely you wouldn't let
yourself be beaten by a lot of bugs and worms, would you? Should you
live in a climate where cotton could be raised you would pitch in,
fight the pests, and be as proud of your snowy field as many another
man is. For when the pods are ready for gathering there is no prettier
sight. It is like a huge bowl of popcorn."

"I'd like to see a cotton field," ventured Mary.

"You'd have to go to India, the southern part of your own country,
Australia, Brazil, Egypt, or the South Sea Islands then," Captain
Dillingham responded. "That is, if you wanted to see the best of
it--that which is strongest of fiber."

"But isn't cotton all alike?" queried the girl, with parted lips.

"No, indeed, child! There are many different kinds of cotton. Some have
seeds of one color, some of another; some seeds come out easily, some
do not; some cotton is strong fibered, some is weak and