EVERYBODY IS SATISFIED
"Bobby, let's have a garden, you and I." Bob looked up from the front of the tent platform, where he sat polishing a pair of much-worn russet shoes. Riding back and forth, nights and mornings, on a bicycle, over very dusty roads, made it necessary to polish often. But Bob didn't mind. The two weeks of camp life he had enjoyed had made him indifferent to any extra trouble involved.
"Looks as if you had a garden somewhere," he responded, eyeing with favour the pailful of red raspberries Sally held up. "You must have got up with the lark, to have picked all those. Mary Ann hasn't more than started the fire in the kitchen tent. I had to go and help her. That girl doesn't know how to boil an egg. She cracks it getting it in. Her coffee is a thick, dark, wicked looking stuff. What do you suppose she does to it?" he asked in a whisper.
"Never mind. I'm growing stronger every minute, and mean to begin to cook, next week."
"Thank goodness!" murmured Bob. "I mean," he explained quickly, "that
I'm thankful you're well enough."
Sally laughed, pulled off her wide straw hat, and sat down beside Bob.
"Your cheeks are pink as hollyhocks," he observed, eyeing her with satisfaction.
"I had a lovely time picking those raspberries," she said. "There must have been a big patch of them back there once. Bob, I want to start a kitchen garden. Max and Alec haven't waked up yet to the fun it would be to grow things on this old place, but you're always awake. Come on!"
Bob stood up.
"I'm ready for anything you say, but I don't know any more about planting gardens than I do about building bridges. You don't plant a garden in July—I'm sure of that."