THE TIMOTHY HARVEST 233 
It was pretty of her to say that; but what 
else would one expect from Laura ? 
The twelve acres from which the fodder oats 
had been cut were ploughed and fitted for sugar 
beets and turnips. I was not at all certain that 
the beets would do anything if sown so late, but 
I was going to try. Of the turnips I could feel 
more certain, for doth not the poet say :— 
“The 25th day of July, 
Sow your turnips, wet or dry” ? 
As the 25th fell on Sunday, I tried to placate the 
agricultural poet by sowing half on the 24th and 
the other half on the 26th, but it was no use. 
Whether the turnip god was offended by the 
fractured rule and refused his blessing, or whether 
the dry August and September prevented full 
. returns, is more than I can say. Certain it is 
that I had but a half crop of turnips and a beg- 
garly batch of beets to comfort me and the hogs. 
Some little consolation, however, was found in 
Polly’s joy over a small crop of currants which 
her yearling bushes produced. I also heard 
rumors of a few cherries which turned their red 
cheeks to the sun for one happy day, and then 
disappeared. Cock Robin’s breast was red the 
next morning, and on this circumstantial evi- 
dence Polly accused him. He pleaded “not 
guilty,” and strutted on the lawn with his 
thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat and his 
suspected breast as much in evidence as a pouter 
