“Father read from the paper last night something the President said,� said Patsy. “‘Every one who makes or works a garden helps to solve the problem of feeding the nations.’�
“Yes, the President says the fate of the nation and the world rests largely on the farmer,� said David, importantly. “He wants them to plant food crops; and that’s what I am doing.�
“Oh, your old corn acre! You’re so biggity about it,� jeered Dick.
“I wouldn’t mind a little farm work or gardening; but I certainly draw the line at knitting,� said Steve.
“Oh! oh! oh!� Anne jumped up and down, uttering little squeals of excitement. “Steve! David! Dick! Why don’t you have a school war garden?�
“A school garden?� questioned Steve.
“Yes; like we have in Washington, that all the pupils work in,� said Anne.
“Thank you! I get enough gardening at home,� said Dick, sourly. “I don’t want to spend all my life hung to one end of a stick with a hoe at the other end.�
“Oh! but this is fun, and good war work too. It takes just a few hours a week from each of us. The more there are to help, the less there is for each one to do.� Then Anne went on indignantly: “It seems to me you’d want to help, you boys, when you think about all those poor people over there, old folks and children and women with babies, homeless and without food. Hundreds and thousands of them stand in line for hours every day to get a little soup and a piece of bread; and if we in America don’t provide that bread and soup, they’ll starve.�
“I’ll make a garden for them,� said a high, sweet voice, quavering on the verge of tears. “If I had a hoe and a place to work, I’d begin right away. I ain’t quite as big as Dick, but father says I’ve got mighty good muscle. Just you feel it, Anne,� said Sweet William. “Where’s a hoe? And where’s the garden going to be?�