ELEVEN] COME AND SEE MY CABBAGES 
being like flour. Yet there is so much in the 
cooking of a potato that we are liable to reject the 
best varieties for lack of what our mothers called 
“drying off’— that is, steaming after cooking. 
Some of us remember when tomatoes were 
“Love Apples,’ and not supposed to be eatable. 
The older sorts were, in fact, hardly fit for the 
table. The smell was very rank, and the core 
was hard, while the skin and seeds constituted 
the bulk of the fruit. But when our mothers 
made them into savory pies they stole a march 
on prejudice. ‘Father”’ said the little mother, 
“do you like the pie?” ‘To be sure,”’ said the 
father, “but what is it made of?” “Apples, 
> 
my dear—love apples.”’ So we have come down 
the years, conquering and being conquered. We 
have not so many vegetable prejudices as we had 
one hundred years ago. A tomato trellis, half 
Golden Queen and half Trophy or Perfection, is a 
beautiful sight. The beauty goes hand in hand 
with comfort and pleasure when these are sliced 
with granulated sugar in Jersey cream. 
Muskmelons can be grown successfully all 
through our Northern States. There are also one 
or two varieties of watermelon that perfect as far 
[241] 
