“It suits me.”
Corn—didn’t Hoover urge people to eat corn? In helping the corn crop, she too might feel herself feeding the Belgians.
Gertrude linked her arm in her slender cousin’s as they left the table. “I’ll show you where the tools are,” she said. “Harry runs the cultivator in the field, but we use hand-hoes in the garden.”
“You will have to show me more than that,” said Elliott. “What does hoeing do to corn, anyhow?”
“Keeps down the weeds that eat up the nourishment in the soil,” recited Gertrude glibly, “and by stirring up the ground keeps in the moisture. You like to know the reason for things, too, don’t you? I’m glad. I always do.”
It wasn’t half bad, with a hoe over her shoulder, in company with other boys and girls, to swing through the dewy morning to the garden. Priscilla had joined the squad when she heard Elliott was to be in it, and with Stannard and Tom the three girls made a little procession. It proved a simple enough matter to wield a hoe. Elliott watched the others for a few minutes, and if her hills did not take on as workmanlike an appearance as Tom’s and Gertrude’s, or even as Priscilla’s, they all assured her practice would mend the fault.
“You’ll do it all right,” Priscilla encouraged her.
“Sure thing!” said Tom. “We might have a race and see who gets his row done first.”
“No races for me, yet,” said Elliott. “It would be altogether too tame. I’d qualify for the booby prize without trying. But the rest of you may race, if you want to.”