258 FARMING BY INCHES; 



on the stove. Presently, he returned, bringing an old 

 raisin-box, some strawberry-boxes, and two or three 

 cracked flower-pots. These he put down near the stove, 

 and getting a seat and a book, drew himself close to the 

 fire and began to read. The sight to me was simply 

 funny. 



"A pretty farmer you make, Robert! Toasting your 

 toes and your farm there by the fire." 



He never answered a word. 



Looking out of the window soon after, I observed a 

 huge four-horse wagon turning into our yard. 



" Why, Robert, what is all this ? What are these peo- 

 ple bringing in here?" 



"Manure, I suppose. I bought a large lot this morn- 

 ing." 



Whereupon he took his hat and went out. In about 

 half an hour I heard the empty wagon drive away, 

 and my husband returned to his reading. The pile of 

 soil had by this time begun to throw off a cloud of steam, 

 and, drying rapidly, changed color from a disagreeable 

 black to a rich, deep brown. Robert then took the 

 boxes and pots and filled them all full from the heap of 

 baked soil. This done, he placed them on the floor 

 behind the stove and out of harm's way. Taking from 

 his pocket a small package marked, " Seeds only," that 



