372 TRANSACTIONS OF THE HORTICULTURAL 



rience, but so. had the aforesaid hundreds, and what is the lack 

 of knowledge or experience to count against a long life before 

 one in which to acquire both? So, with a delightful bliss that 

 comes of ignorance, the little old farm-house under the hill had 

 new tenants in the spring. 



And now Madge, with all the varied days of spring, summer, 

 autumn and winter coming regularly each twenty-four hours, 

 found herself haunted with the constantly recurring question, 

 "What shall I get for dinner to-day?" Now Jerry had started 

 with the good resolutions that many have, and plowed a spot for 

 a garden, getting some seeds at the nearest store, and, with a 

 great deal of eclat, getting everything into the ground just in 

 time for the rain storm about the last of March, for the weather 

 had been delightful for a few days, and the ground was easily 

 worked. Potatoes, peas, beans and onions, radish, lettuce, 

 turnip, beet, cabbage and parsnip seeds, were all put in 

 delightful rows, and duly covered and marked, so that much 

 was off his mind until gathering time should come. A goodly 

 appetite had come with every hour's work, and, with that best 

 oi relishes, hunger, he was glad to welcome the noontime . 



Madge, with praiseworthy industry and skill, had prepared a 

 tempting-looking dinner; the tomato soup, from her own 

 canned tomatoes of last summer, had just the appetizing quality 

 for such a bright spring day; the bread was delicious, the meat 

 about right; but the potatoes — what was the matter with the 



J)otatoes? Some were all done to pieces, and some seemed a 

 ittle hard. The discussion on their demerits resulted in the 

 opinion that there were two kinds of potatoes grown together, 

 one kind cooking much sooner than the other. "For," said 

 Madge, "part of them are smooth and hard, and part are all 

 lumps and watery, when I peel them." 



"I wish I had known it before planting," said Jerry, "for, 

 though they did not all look alike, I never thought they would 

 cook differently. You will have to separate them before cook- 

 ing. But, Madge, what kind of a pie is this? " 



"I made it for an apple pie," said Madge, meekly. 



"Did you use half water?" 



"I never put a drop of water in," stoutly replied Madge. 



And, truly, the fluidity of that pie was something remarkable. 

 The bits of apple seemed floating around in it still uncooked. 



"The grocer said this was a very fine kind of apple, such a 

 good keeper. Here it is spring, and they are as sound as ever. 

 I confess, I do not care for them to eat, they are tasteless, but I 

 thought anything would make a pie." 



O! innocent Jerry; don't be deluded in that way again. 



"These were said to be Willow Twigs. I'll get some others 

 to-night." 



