CHAPTER XI
GATHERING CROPS
Hal, Mab and their father ran to the gate in the fence that was betweentheir yard and the garden of Mr. Porter. Down where their neighbor's limabeans were planted, and where they were climbing up the poles, they heardthe barking and yelping of Roly-Poly sounding loudly.
"He's there!" cried Mab.
"Here, Roly! Come here! Come on, little doggie!" called Hal, thinking, fora moment, that perhaps his pet was barking at a cat, as sometimes Rolydid, though he really would not have hurt pussy.
"Why doesn't he come?" asked Mab, coming to a stop, while her fatherlooked around, trying to see the poodle among the growing things in thegarden.
"Maybe he's caught and can't come," suggested Hal.
"Caught how?" asked Mab.
"Well, maybe he's all tangled up in the bean vines like he was in themorning glories the day he sat down in the fly paper," Hal answered.
"Oh, Roly! Are you hurt?" cried Mab.
"Bow-wow! Ki-yi!" was all the answer the little poodle dog gave, and,though it might have meant a great deal in dog language Mab and Hal couldnot understand it. But Roly-Poly was trying to make his friends know thatsomething had happened to him.
"I'll find him," said Mr. Blake. "You children had better stay backthere," and he motioned to them not to come any farther. Hal and Mab stoodstill.
"What is it? What's the matter?" Mr. Porter, coming from another part ofthe garden where he had been pulling up some turnips. "Has anythinghappened?"
"Something has happened to Roly-Poly," replied Hal.
"Hear him howl?" inquired Mab.
"I should say I did!" cried Mr. Porter. "And I guess I know what's thematter to. He's in the trap."
"In the trap?" cried Hal in surprise. "What trap?"
Mr. Porter did not answer. He ran down to where Daddy Blake was pokingamong the green vines and bushes, trying to find Roly.
"Come on!" exclaimed Hal. "Let's go see what it is."
"Daddy told us to stay here," said Mab. "We can't go."
Hal knew that, and, much as he wanted to see what was going on, he wouldnot disobey his father. Mab, too, would have liked to run down where DaddyBlake and Mr. Porter were.
"Bow-wow! Ki-yi!" barked and howled Roly again, and then the childrenheard their father and his friend, the man next door, laughing.
"I guess Roly can't be hurt very much or Daddy wouldn't laugh," said Mab.
"I guess not," agreed Hal. "I wish we could go see what it is."
Just then their father came out from among the tall lima beans. He hadRoly in his arms, and the little poodle dog was cuddled up as though hedid not want to leave them.
"Is he hurt?" asked Mab.
"A little," her father answered.
"Where?" Hal wanted to know.
"On his tail. It was pinched a little in the mole trap, where he wascaught fast. But we got you out; didn't we Roly-Poly?"
"Bow-wow; Ki-yi!" yelped the poodle.
"Was he in the mole trap?" asked Hal.
"And what is a mole trap?" asked Mab.
"Well, I see I'll have to tell you more about the garden," answered DaddyBlake with a laugh, as he gave Roly over to his little girl and boy, whoeagerly petted him. "For the mole is one of the garden pests, and thetrap, Mr. Porter set to catch some who were spoiling his things, caughtRoly-Poly instead."
"Is a mole a worm?" Hal wanted to know. "Or is it like a potato bug?"
"It's a little animal like a mouse," said his father, "only it is blind.It lives underground, in the dark all the while, so really it has no usefor eyes, any more than have the blind fish in the big Kentucky cave.
"But, though a mole is blind, it does not stop him from turning up theground and uprooting many plants. He really doesn't mean to do it, but wehave to catch him just the same."
"Oh, I'd like to see a blind mole," said Mab.
"I can't show you one just now," spoke Mr. Porter, "but I can show you howthey dig underground, and the damage they do to lawns and gardens. Maybe,if your dog Roly will keep out of my mole trap, I can catch one of thecreatures and show you how it looks. Come down here."
Mr. Porter led the way to that part of the garden where Roly had beencaught by his little tail. On the ground, among the rows of beans,sometimes going right under them and spoiling the roots, was a long ridgeof dirt, in a sort of wavy line. With his fingers Daddy Blake tore up someof the earth, and opened a regular little tunnel under ground.
"The mole," said Daddy Blake, "tunnels, or digs, his way in the dark,underground, to find grubs and worms which he eats. He had two frontclaws, very strong, just purposely made for digging, and you would besurprised to see how soon a mole can dig himself underground, even if youput him on top of a hard, dirt road.
"It is when the blind mole tunnels along, smelling here and there forgrubs and worms, that he uproots the plants and for that reason we have tocatch him. There are some traps that have sharp points which go downthrough the ground with a strong spring to push them, whenever a diggingmole gets too near. But the trap Mr. Porter set was a spring trap withoutany sharp points to it, which he thought might catch a mole alive. Insteadit caught Roly, who was digging away to find a buried bone, maybe."
"Is he all right now?" asked Mab.
"Yes, his tail was only pinched a little but Roly's tail is very tender Iguess, for he howled very loudly."
"I wish I could see a mole," said Hal.
"So do I," echoed his sister.
But all they could see was the place where the mole had dug. And perhapsyou may see, in your garden or on your lawn, a little raised ridge, orlong, low hill of dirt, some morning. If you poke your finger, or a stick,down in it you will find that underneath it is hollow.
This is a place where a mole has dug his tunnel in the night to get thingsto eat. Moles dig deep down, too, under the surface where no one can seethem, and when they do not uproot the grass or the garden plants, they dolittle harm. It is only when they come near the top that you can see theridge they make.
Sometimes cats catch moles when they come out on top of the ground,thinking them a sort of mouse. The mole's fur is very fine and soft, andwould make a fine cloak, only it would take many skins to make one largeenough to wear.
"Well, I'm glad Roly-Poly is all right," said Mab, as she took the littledog from Hal, who was holding hint, and petted him on his head.
"Yes, you may put him down now," spoke her father. "And we'll go dig thepotatoes. Mother wants some for dinner, and I want to show you childrenhow to get them out of the ground. For we will soon be digging them to putaway for winter."
When Hal and Mab reached the potato part of the garden, which was thelargest of all the plots, the children saw that many of the green vineswere getting brown and withered.
"Why, the vines are dying!" exclaimed Mab. "Did a mole spoil them, Daddy?"
"No, but the potatoes have grown as large as they ever will be, and, therebeing no more need of the vine, it is drying up. It has gone to seed, justas a dandelion goes to seed, in a way, though we call the potatoes'tubers' instead of seed. There may be potato seeds, that come when thepotato blossom dries up, for all I know, but I have always planted theeyes of the tubers and so does everyone else. Now to show you how to dig."
Mr. Blake had planted two kinds of potatoes, early and late, and it wasthe vines of the early ones that had dried up. Later on the others woulddry, and then it would be time to dig their tubers to put down cellarfor the long Winter.
"First you pull up the vine," said Daddy Blake, and he tore one from theearth, many of the potatoes clinging to it. These he picked off and put inthe basket. Then, with a potato hook, which is something like a spadingfork, only with the prongs curved downward like a rake, Daddy Blake beganscraping away the dirt from the side of the hill of potatoes.
"When a farmer has a big field of potatoes," said the children's father,"he may use a machine potato-digger. This is drawn by horses, who walkbetween the rows, drawing the machine
right over where the potato vinesare growing. The machine has iron prongs which dig under the dirt likegiant fingers, turning out the potatoes which are tossed between the rowsof dirt so men, who follow, may pick them up. But we'll dig ours by hand.And in digging potatoes you must be careful not to stick your fork, spadeor whatever you use, into the potato tubers, and so cutting them."
"Why can't we do that?" asked Hal.
"Because a potato that is cut, pierced or bruised badly will not keep aswell as one that is sound and good. It rots more quickly, and one rottenpotato in a bin of good ones will cause many others to spoil, just as onerotten apple in a barrel of sound ones will spoil a great many. So becareful when you dig your potatoes."
Hal and Mab watched Daddy Blake, and then he let them pull a vine and digin the hill after the brown tubers. Out they came tumbling and rolling, asif glad to get into the light and sunshine. For they had been down underthe dark earth ever since the eyes were planted in the Spring, growingfrom tiny potatoes Into large ones.
When Mab dug up her hill of potatoes, after she had picked up all therewere in it, her father saw her carefully looking among the clods of brownsoil.
"What have you lost, Mab?" he asked.
"I was looking for the eye pieces you planted when you made your potatogarden," she answered.
"Oh, they have turned into these many potatoes," laughed Mr. Blake. "Thatis the magical trick Mother Nature does for us. We plant a piece ofpotato, with 'eyes' in it, or we plant a seed, and up springs a plant onthe roots of which are more potatoes, or, if it is a bean, it turns into avine with many more beans on it. And the seed--that is the eye potato orthe bean--disappears completely, just as a magician on the stage pretendsto make your handkerchief disappear and change into a lemon. Mother Natureis very wonderful."
Hal and Mab thought so too.
The Summer was passing away. The days that had been long and full ofsunshine until late in the evening were getting shorter. No longer was itlight at five o'clock in the morning, and the golden ball did not stay upuntil after seven at night.
"The days are getting shorter and the nights longer," said Daddy Blake."That means Winter is not far off, though we still have Autumn or Fallbefore us. And that will bring us the harvest days. We will soon begin toharvest, or bring in our crops."
"And then will we know who gets the prize?" asked Hal.
"Yes," his father answered. "I'll have to award the ten dollar gold prizethen, but it will be some little time yet. Things are not all donegrowing, though they have done their best. From now on we will not have toworry so much about weeds, bugs and worms."
"Do they die, too, like the potato vines?" asked Mab.
"Yes, though many weeds will not be killed until a hard frost nips them.But the garden plants have gotten their full growth, and are not babiesany more, so the weeds can not do them so much harm. Most of the bugs andworms, too, have died or been eaten by the birds. The birds are thegardener's best friend, for they eat many worms and bugs that could not bekilled in any other way. So the more insect-eating birds you have aroundyour garden the better. Even though the robins may take a few cherriesthey don't get paid half enough that way for the good work they do."
"How am I going to harvest my beans?" asked Mab. "There aren't many moregreen ones left to boil, for Mother canned a lot of them."
"What are left of your beans we will save dried, to make into baked beansthis Winter," said her father.
"And what about my corn?" Hal wanted to know.
"Well, your mother canned some of that," answered his father, "that is thesweet kind. The yellow ears I will show you how to save for the chickensthis winter, and there is another kind--well, I'll tell you about that alittle later," and he smiled at the children.
"Oh, have I got three kinds of corn?" asked Hal, clapping his hands indelight.
"We'll see when we come to harvest it," said Daddy Blake.
"Maybe I'll win the prize with that!" exclaimed the little boy. "Come on,Mab! Let's go in and look at the ten dollar gold piece. I hope I win it!"
"I hope you do, too, Hal," said his sister. "But I'd like it myself, andI've got a awful lot of beans. My vines are covered with them--I meandried ones, in pods like peas."
"I wish we could both have the prize," said Hal. "But if I win I'll giveyou half, Mab."
"So will I to you!" exclaimed the little girl.
As they ran toward the house they saw a farmer, from whom their motheroften bought things, standing on the porch. In his hand he held whatlooked to be a big whip. There was a long wooden handle and fast to it wasa shorter stick of wood.
"There's the flail I told Mr. Blake I'd bring him," said the farmer toAunt Lolly, who had come to the door when he rang the bell.
"A flail," she repeated. "What is it for?"
"Well, I think Mr. Blake wants to whip some beans with it," and the farmerlaughed, while Hal and Mab looked at him curiously.