Natalie: A Garden Scout

“Oh, I forgot all about the woodland down by the stream! I’ll run down there in the morning to see if I can find any rotted leaves,” said Natalie eagerly.

“Natalie, you should also hunt up some long boards in the barn, or cellar, to use when we plant the seeds,” advised Mrs. James.

“Boards – what for?”

“Well, if we have the soil all smooth and fine for planting, our feet will trample down the ground wherever we walk. We must do our seeding by leaning over the bed and work down from each side of the two-foot wide space. By placing a board on the foot-path between the beds, we can stand on it and keep the soil from becoming packed.”

“I should think it would do the path good to be packed down good and hard.”

“So it will, but the board will do that in an even manner. Our shoes will cut in and cause the packing to be done in an uneven way,” explained Mrs. James.

“I suppose we will have to fill some baskets with any leaf-mould we may find in the woodland. But how can we carry them up to the gardens?” Natalie now said.

“Maybe Mr. Ames can suggest a way to do that better than our carrying the heavy loads.”

“Well, I’d willingly carry it, just to have the benefit of it on my garden. The vegetables will grow like anything, – Mr. Ames says they will,” responded Natalie.

After a few moments of silence, she turned again to Mrs. James and asked: “Why did you just say that we might rake up the leaves in the fall and put them aside for the winter? Don’t you know we won’t be here when the leaves fall?”

“I’m not so sure of that, Natalie,” returned Mrs. James. “I have been thinking matters out very carefully, and from present indications there will be a great scarcity of apartments, or rooms, to be had in New York this year. The rents will be outrageous for us to pay, and as long as we are so comfortably housed here, why try to earn the necessary income for high rents? The distance to the station is not long, and you can easily commute to the city to attend school in September. When winter weather really sets in, we can take a trunk and board in New York until spring. That will overcome all financial worries about leases and rents.”

“Oh, I never thought of that! But the girls wouldn’t stay with me after September, I’m afraid,” exclaimed Natalie.

“We won’t have to plan or worry about that now,” laughed Mrs. James. “Maybe the girls will be so much in love with farm-life, they will beg their parents to permit them to remain longer than September! In that case, you will have no loneliness, I’m sure.”

“No, that’s so; and I suppose it is really up to me to make them so happy here that they will want to remain,” admitted Natalie.

“I haven’t suggested this possibility to Mr. Marvin, as yet, but I know he will be tremendously relieved to hear of it, as he is wondering what can be done in the fall, with our income so limited.”

“Well, let’s talk about it the first time he comes out to see us. I am perfectly contented to remain here, if it is best for all.”

After this digression, both amateur farmers turned their attention to the scouting manual again.

“It states here, Jimmy, that one must be careful not to allow the garden soil to run over boundaries, and spread out upon the foot-paths. This can be avoided by using a low length of fence made of a thin board about six inches high, or the beds can be walled in with field-stone which looks very artistic as well as useful. The plan of walling in the beds also helps to retain the moisture in the ground where the roots can drink it as needed.”

“I’ll make a note of that, Natalie, as it sounds practical,” said Mrs. James, writing down the idea on a paper.

“And it also suggests that the garden beds be built up from the pathway for about two or three inches, making a tiny terrace of each bed and sinking the foot-path below the bed. By so doing, any excessive moisture is drained out from the soil, so the roots are not kept too wet,” read Natalie.

“Yes, I knew that before, and we certainly will follow that suggestion when we spread out our beds.”

“Well, when we get as far as that in the work, our seeds ought to arrive,” remarked Natalie, yawning behind her hand.

Mrs. James smiled at the yawn for it was not yet eight o’clock, and the previous evening Natalie had grumbled about retiring as early as nine. But she said nothing about the yawn.

“Don’t hold up the delivery of the seeds on the ground that we must finish all the garden beds first,” laughed the lady.

“Mercy no! I am as anxious to see the seeds as I am to plant the tiny green shoots that Mr. Ames promised to give us.” Then after another mighty yawn that almost dislocated her jaw, Natalie added: “Jimmy, I want to get up very early in the morning to plant those slips we got to-day. Mr. Ames says I must give them several hours in the ground before the sun is up, so they won’t wilt and die. So I think I will go up to bed – if you don’t mind?”

“By all means, Natalie. And I will follow, shortly. I just want to enter a few notes on our work in this diary, then I will retire, also; I think we can work better at dawn if we get our full quota of sleep during the night.”

The next day was given to breaking up the clods of earth and raking out the smaller stones to clear the garden beds. The compost was well-mixed with the soil by Farmer Ames, while Mrs. James and Natalie went down to the woodland by the river and found certain places where leaf-mould was plentiful. It was as fine as gunpowder, and of an exceptionally rich quality. That morning, Mr. Ames had arrived, driving Bob and an old buckboard. When it was proposed that someone go for the leaf-mould, Natalie instantly suggested that they drive Bob to the woodland so the baskets could be placed on the buckboard and carried to the garden that way. This would save time and great exertion on the part of someone to carry them from the river to the beds.

Now the containers were lifted up and placed securely on the back and front platforms of the buckboard and the two hard-working companions gladly sat down on the seat and started Bob up the grass-grown road.

Soon they were helping to spread out the leaf-mould on the soil, and while they worked, Natalie asked: “Mr. Ames, how comes it that no one ever went to the river bank to get this rich mould?”

“Well, that woodland and the river banks belongs to this farm, so no one else would trespass on it. And the man who ran this farm had idees of his own about fertilizer. He placed no faith in Nature’s work, but kep’ on buyin’ and experimentin’ with stuff what came from Noo York.”

Mr. Ames stood up while delivering this explanation, then he added, winking wisely at Natalie:

“But he diden spile yer farm, fer all his foolin’ wid Noo York stuff instead of goin’ to Nature fer her goods.”

His hearers laughed and Mrs. James remarked: “No, I should say not. And you said yourself that he managed to get the best results of any farmer round here.”

When the leaf-mould was well spread over three garden beds, Mr. Ames made a suggestion.

“Now you two women-folk kin use my tape-line to measure off three beds as wide as yuh want ’em, whiles I goes down to the woods with Bob and brings up some more mould fer the other beds. When the marking is done, you kin begin to plant them termater plants I brought this mornin’. I left ’em in the cellar whar it was cool and damp.”

This was encouraging, for it began to sound as if the garden was really a fact. Before the seeds or slips were in the ground, something might happen to change the plan, thought Natalie. So Mrs. James and she eagerly measured out the first few beds, and about the time Mr. Ames was ready to drive up his installment of leaf-mould, they were ready to get the cabbage and tomato plants.

Before sundown that day, three beds were on the way to producing their vegetables. One bed was planted with tomatoes and one with cabbages, the third was used for beets and radishes – plants which had been kept in the cellar from the evening before.

“To-morrer we will git the other beds done and you’se kin seed ’em down wid all you’se wants to raise,” said Mr. Ames, as he mounted the old buckboard and prepared to drive home.

“Oh, Mr. Ames!” called Natalie anxiously. “Do you have anyone who drives to the Corners to-night, or in the morning, so they might get our seeds from the mail?”

“I’m goin’ in m’se’f t’-night. Yeh see, Si Tompkins has sort of a country-club meetin’ at his store every week on this night, an’ I hain’t never missed one!” bragged Farmer Ames.

“What do you do at the meetings?” asked Natalie wonderingly.

“Oh, mos’ everything. Lately it has be’n all about the damp cold season, an’ how we are goin’ to get our truck goin’ ef this weather keeps up. Some of th’ farmers exchange advice on matters. Then when the weather ain’t bad, we talks about polerticks. That old League of Nations kept us fuming fer th’ longest time! But now that it’s dead, we let it bury itself.”

Both Natalie and Mrs. James laughed appreciatively at his explanation, and the former added: “Well, if you will only bring our seeds, if they have arrived, I won’t dispute your rights to argue on politics.”

“That I will, and gladly,” returned the farmer as he drove away.

Natalie turned to Mrs. James and asked whimsically: “Did Mr. Ames mean he would gladly argue politics with us, or gladly bring the seeds back?”

“He meant both, I’m sure,” laughed Mrs. James.

But he did not appear again that evening, and Natalie wondered why not. Mrs. James laughingly replied: “Because he, most likely, is the speaker for the night’s meeting at the store.”

Although this was said jokingly, it was exactly what occurred and detained the farmer from driving home until after ten. As the farm-house was dark at that time, he decided to take the package of seeds home and deliver them in the morning when he put in his appearance for work.

The farmerettes were ready for him, when he finally drove in at the side gate. Natalie watched eagerly as he got out of the vehicle – she wondered if he had the seeds.

“I got th’ seeds, ladies, but I be’n thinkin’ about them pertater seeds what my brother told me about las’ night when we druv home from Tompkins’ Corners. Yuh hain’t got no pertaters figgered on yet, have yeh?”

“Laws no! I forgot all about potatoes,” exclaimed Natalie, using Rachel’s favorite exclamation when amazed.

“Well – no harm done,” returned Mr. Ames. “My brother has a reputation fer growin’ th’ best pertater seed in the state, an’ he says he kin spare yuh about a peck, ef yuh let him know at once. I allus gits mine of him, an’ my crops never fail.”

“A peck! Why, Mr. Ames – a peck of seed will plant that whole field!” cried Natalie, nodding to the big buckwheat field that adjoined her farm.

It was the farmer’s turn to look amazed now. He glanced from the speaker to Mrs. James and back again. Mrs. James laughed and said: “Did you think potato seed looked like our other seeds?”

“Of course, – doesn’t it?”

Then Farmer Ames threw back his head and gave vent to a loud guffaw. His Adam’s apple jumped up and down in his throat as he gasped for breath, and his under lip came near being drawn out of sight in the suction caused by his gasp.

“Wall, ef that don’t beat the Irish!” exclaimed he, when he could speak again. “Mebbe we’ll have a few other surprises to give Miss Natalie afore she is done farmin’.”

“I haven’t a doubt of it!” retorted she. “But just now you might explain about potato seed.”

“How much seed would you have ordered for a patch of ground about six beds’ size?” asked Mr. Ames instead of answering her request.

“About a pint, – maybe half a pint would be enough.”

Rachel had heard the farmer’s loud laughter and having learned the cause of it, she decided to spare her little mistress any further ridicule. So she got an old potato from the basket and, having washed it carefully, went to the door.

“Oh, Natty! Ah say, Mis’ Natty! Come right heah, Honey.”

Natalie turned and smilingly nodded at Rachel; then excused herself to Mr. Ames and ran up the steps of the kitchen porch.

“See heah, Chile! Don’ you go an’ show your ig’nance about farmin’ in front of dat country-man. Now watch me, Honey, an’ den go back an’ play yoh knew it all dis time! Let Mis’r Ames think yuh was funnin’ him.”

Rachel then took the large potato and showed it to Natalie. “See dem leetle dimples in diffrunt places on its skin? Well, – dem is called ‘eyes,’ and when a pertater gits ole, dem eyes begins to sprout. Every sprout will make a pertater vine, so farmers call dem eyes ‘pertater seeds’ – see?”

“Really! Why, Rachel, how interesting!” cried Natalie, taking the potato and studying the eyes.

“Yep! An’ what’s more, you’se kin cut a pertater what has f’om two to six eyes a-growin’, into pieces so one big pertater will plant as many vines as pieces you cut outen him.”

“This potato has five big eyes, Rachel,” said Natalie, counting carefully.

“An’ bein’ a great big pertater, I kin cut five pieces – watch me.”

Rachel then deftly cut the five sections and handed them to Natalie. “But it isn’t bestes to cut so many slices, cuz the sap leaks out and that loses a lot of de power to grow a sturdy plant, Natty. When pertaters is plentiful, we gen’ally cuts ’em in half – an’ the skin pertecks the sap from runnin’ away. Ef we wants to use all dese five pieces, we has to put ’em in the hot sunshine fer an hour er two, to dry up de cut skin. Dat keeps in de juice when de slice is in de ground. And de juice is what feeds de sprout until it grows above de ground.”

“Rachel, you are a brick! Now I can go back to Mr. Ames and show off all I know!” laughed Natalie joyously, as she ran from the kitchen and joined Mrs. James and the farmer again.

But there was no opportunity for her to display her knowledge, as Mrs. James had an invitation ready for her. “Mr. Ames says he would like to have us drive with him to his brother’s farm and see a model little place. We can bring back the potato seed and, at the same time, get lots of good advice and ideas about running our farm this summer.”

In a few minutes more the three were crowded in upon the seat of the buckboard and Rachel stood in the kitchen doorway watching them drive off. Their gay laughter echoed back to her as she returned to the sink to finish the dishes, and she smiled as she murmured to herself: “Ef dis summer out on a farm don’ make dat chile oveh inter a new bein’, den my name ain’t ‘Rachel!’”

CHAPTER VIII – MISS MASON’S PATROL ARRIVES

The drive from Green Hill Farm to Mr. Ames’s brother’s farm was enlivened for Mrs. James and Natalie by the driver’s gossip about the neighboring farmers whose places they passed. One farmer made a speciality of raising poultry, another tried to raise flowers, but his greenhouses were not arranged well, and his plants generally froze in cold weather. Still another farmer planned to raise nothing but market-truck, but he kept postponing the attempt and thus never amounted to anything.

All these various plans gave Natalie food for thought, and she had many schemes outlined in her head by the time Mr. Ames drove in at his brother’s farm-gate.

The house and front gardens were as neat as wax, and one could see from the road that the farm itself was well cared for. Mr. Ames spoke the truth when he bragged of it as being a model farm.

Mrs. Ames came to the side door at the sound of wheels crunching the gravel, and smiled a welcome at her brother-in-law.

“I brung the leddies I tol’ you about,” explained Mr. Ames, as he jumped out and turned to help Mrs. James and Natalie.

After introductions were over, Mrs. Ames remarked: “I’ll go call my husband. He’s at the barns tryin’ to coax a few little pigs from the mother.”

“Oh, oh! Are they tiny little pigs!” cried Natalie excitedly.

“Yes, – not much bigger’n a kitten.”

“Oh dear! Can’t I see them?” asked she anxiously.

Everyone laughed. “Of course you can,” returned Mrs. Ames.

“We will all go and see them,” added Mrs. James. “I like to see little creatures, too.”

So they all walked down the box-edged path-way to the neat out-buildings where Mr. Ames was struggling with two squirming little pink pigs that were determined to run away.

Natalie stood and watched while the battle for supremacy continued, and finally she offered to help hold them. But this was not necessary, as the farmer managed to get them in the pen especially built for the larger pigs of the litter.

“They’ve got to be weaned and give the lean ones a chance to grow better,” explained the farmer, mopping his brow after the struggle had ended.

Natalie was so interested in the barnyard cattle, that the host escorted her about and showed her many amusing and instructive things. Mrs. James enjoyed this visit, also. The modern chicken-houses and duck-yards were admired; the pig-pens, with their clean runs and concrete pools for the pigs to bathe in, were inspected by an astonished Natalie who believed pigs to be filthy animals; and all the other devices for the cleanliness and comfort of the stock were commended; and then they all went back to the house.

Mrs. Ames had hurriedly prepared refreshments, although it was not more than ten o’clock. Ice-cold butter-milk, home-made sponge cake, and fruit, was a tempting sight. Natalie was thirsty after the visit to the barns, and the cold drink proved most refreshing.

While Mrs. Ames played hostess and showed her visitors her flower gardens, the two farmers went to the seed-house and sorted the potato seed Natalie wanted for her own garden. Then several tiny plants were added to this bag, – slips that had been weeded out that morning, and thrown out as superfluous in the Ames’s gardens. These could be transplanted at once by Natalie, and would go on growing, thus giving time for the seeds to sprout.

Natalie enjoyed the flowers and the stock-yard, but she was interested in vegetables, and now she was anxious to get home and plant the potato seed and other slips that had been donated. Hence, the three visitors were soon on their way back to Green Hill.

“Mr. Ames,” began Natalie, as they drove away, “your brother said I could save time in growing the corn if I would soak the kernels in lukewarm water for several hours. He says the soil is quite warm enough now for me to do this, so the swollen corn will not get a chill when it is dropped in the hill.”

“Yeh, I know that, too. I was goin’ to suggest it,” returned Mr. Ames.

“He said the lukewarm water would start the corn swelling better, and by the time Natalie wanted to plant it the water would be cold and the kernel would be the same temperature. The soil would be about the same heat, so we would not be running any risk of failure in hastening the seed,” added Mrs. James.

“Yeh – ye kin do that,” agreed the farmer.

“Another thing your brother said – that I thought good, is this: when we plant slips, such as beets, cauliflower, and other vegetables in a garden bed, to keep the seeds of such kinds apart from the plant beds; then when the seeds sprout they won’t confuse us with the older plants,” said Natalie.

“Mr. Ames,” now said Mrs. James, “your brother says he always plants his corn in a rich sandy soil with a mixture of gravel in it, to act as a drain. The more sunshine it gets, the sweeter it tastes, he said.”

Mr. Ames glanced at the speaker with a pitying look. “Diden yuh know that afore he tole you?” was all he said.

Natalie nudged Mrs. James and giggled. But the lady was not silenced by the farmer’s remark. She was enthusiastic about all she had learned and had to debate it with someone.

“He said that he seldom used a compost made of cow-manure, unless it was seasoned with other lighter fertilizer, as it was so heavy it kept all air from permeating to the roots. But he added that it formed a splendid foundation for other mixtures to be added to it.”

“Well, diden I say that same thing to yuh?” demanded Mr. Ames.

“Yes, but it is more satisfactory to hear your advice seconded. Now we know you were right in your suggestions,” said Mrs. James guilelessly.

“Right here, I wanta tell yuh-all that I brung my brother up in his farmin’ knowledge. And what he knows he learned from me when I was votin’ an’ he was onny in knickers!” was Farmer Ames’s scornful reply.

The rest of that day was spent in planting potato seed, Rachel helping, so that the cut sections need not be dried out. At sundown Mr. Ames went for his horse and buckboard, saying,

“Wall, to-morrer yuh won’t need me, Mis’ James. Everything is goin’ on as fine as kin be, an’ you’se know all about th’ seeds.”

“Oh dear, Mr. Ames!” cried Natalie, in distress, “we will feel as if we are at sea without a rudder.”

The remark pleased the farmer, for he was proud of his experience and loved to have others admit it. So he said: “Well, ef I git time I might run in at noon when I drives to the store fer mail and house-goods.”

“Please do! We will need you by that time, I am sure,” replied Natalie.

But the seeds and corn and other vegetable products were planted without further mistakes or delay. Each day saw the work advance and by the time the city school closed the garden was well on its way to producing edibles for that season.

The tiny lettuce slips that Mr. Ames’s brother had given Natalie were growing up fresh and green; the radishes showed three to four sturdy little leaves, evidence that tiny red balls were forming under the ground. The cabbages and cauliflowers began to present funny little button-like heads above the soil; and the seeds were showing slender little spears of green where the soft earth was cleft by their protruding points. The tomato vines and other plants started from slips that had been weeded out from the Ames’s farms were doing well; so that Natalie felt a righteous pride in her garden.

A letter from Miss Mason came the last Friday of school:

Dear Natalie:

Almost before you will have time to digest the contents of this letter we will have descended upon Green Hill Farm. The Girl Scouts in my Patrol packed and shipped the tents and other camping outfit, by express, the first of the week. I wrote the man at the Corner Store to hold them until we called there for them. If Mrs. James, and Rachel and you, have nothing better to do on Sunday, we will be pleased to have you come to our camp and dine with us. We hope to have everything in order and be ready for guests by Sunday noon, as we will arrive at Greenville about noon on Saturday. Until then, I will wish you all rest and peace, as you will need to draw heavily upon the reserve fund of it after we arrive. My Girl Scouts are an active, energetic patrol, and few of them ever stop to sit down or sleep while in camp.

Lovingly your teacher,Anna Mason.

“Jimmy, Miss Mason says her girls will be here Saturday – that’s to-morrow. But I haven’t heard a word from the other girls about when they will arrive! If only they could come up and be with us all on Sunday. Don’t you suppose we could telephone Janet and let her arrange it?” asked Natalie anxiously, after reading the letter from Miss Mason.

“Perhaps the girls are planning to pack up and get away from the city for all summer when they do come here. In that case, I don’t see how they could manage to get away on Saturday. But we can telephone and find out,” returned Mrs. James.

So Janet was called over the ’phone, and Natalie heard to her great delight that Janet was coming Saturday evening even though other girls in the group would not leave the city until the middle of the following week.

That afternoon at sundown Natalie inspected her garden critically, trying to judge it from another’s point of view. When she returned to the house she sat down on the piazza beside Mrs. James and sighed.

“I suppose everyone will laugh at my garden. The seeds aren’t big yet, – only the lettuce and other things that I transplanted from the Ames’s farms. Do you think they really will grow up, Jimmy?”

“Of course they will. Does the sun shine or do we succeed in growing anything from the ground?” laughed Mrs. James.

“But this is different. I am not an experienced farmer and maybe the vegetables won’t grow for me.”

“The poor little seeds never stop to wonder whether you are a farmer or not. They have no partiality. It is their business to grow and bring forth results, so they get busy and attend to their business the moment they are planted. But all things take time to develop, – so with seeds. They do not give you a full-grown head of lettuce or cauliflower in a night.”