OR, WITH BRAINS, SIR. 257 



CHAPTER III. 



THE BEST FERTILIZER BRAINS. 



AFTER dinner Robert went out to look at his new frames, 

 while I began to clear away the table. Before I had fin- 

 ished, he returned, bringing in a large sheet of rusty iron, 

 on which was a pile of wet soil. This he gravely placed 

 on the kitchen stove. 



"What are you about, Robert?" 



"About to apply caloric to a piece of our farm. The 

 soil in the frames has melted, but is still too cold and 

 wet, I fancy, to plant seeds in. I found this bit of Russia 

 iron, and I am going to bake some of the soil on it until 

 it is fit for use." 



"Shall we have baked-farm for supper?" asked I, 

 demurely. 



"Yes, in time, that is, we may have the final result 

 of the baking for dinner or supper." 



" But you have not soil enough there to fill a tenth part 

 of the frames." 



" I know it, my dear. I have a better idea than that. 

 Wait a bit." 



So saying, he went out leaving the pan of damp soil 



