“Here I am, Wry-Face, here I am!”
“Well, I never did!” cried Wry-Face, and he began to weep; for he saw that the potato plant would climb up to his roof and round his chimney and he would never be able to get rid of it.
And he wept and wept.
At last he went in, and took his pie out of the oven, and set it in the pantry, for it was quite done. And he found a spade, and went out, and began to dig and dig at the root of the potato plant. But his digging did not seem to make any difference, and the evening began to grow darker.
Wry-Face fetched his little lamp, which is named Bright Beauty and which always burns without flickering. Then he went on digging, and he dug and dug and dug.
And when he had dug for hours and hours, so that he was very, very tired, the potato plant began suddenly to dwindle and dwindle. It dwindled as fast as anything, the leaves disappeared and the stem disappeared and all the horrid stretching arms. They sank down, down, and down, till at last there was nothing left at all but—a big brown potato!
“Well, I do declare!” cried Wry-Face. “I should like to know what you have to do with my fine garden.”
The potato replied, “I jumped here from the cart of One-Eye, the potato wife, and it is quite certain that unless I am taken back to her immediately, I shall start again, growing and growing and growing.”
“Dear potato, you must not start growing again,” cried Wry-Face, in a great way. “To-night I am so tired, I cannot do anything, but if you will but wait till to-morrow I will take you back to One-Eye, the potato wife—I will, indeed.”
At first the potato would not listen to this at all; but after a while it said, “Well, well, I will wait till to-morrow. But remember, if you do not carry me home to One-Eye, the potato wife, to-morrow, I shall grow into a potato tree, without a doubt.”