Then aunt Dorcas went with Joe to the opposite side of the garden, and, intent on having the corn planted after a certain peculiar fashion of her own, gave no heed to what Plums was doing, for ten minutes or more; but when she did observe that young gentleman's method of working, a cry of surprise and disapproval burst from her lips.
"Whatever are you doing, George?"
"Makin' these hills, of course," Plums replied, quietly, without ceasing his work of shovelling the soft earth up into huge mounds, each of which was twelve or fifteen times as large as it should have been.
"Well, bless the boy, he don't even know how to plant potatoes!" and the little woman regarded the results of Master Plummer's labour in dismay. "Weren't you ever on a farm, George?"
"I never was so far in the country as this before in my life," and Plums wiped the perspiration from his flushed face; for, strange as it may seem, he had, during these few moments, been working quite industriously.
"'WELL, BLESS THE BOY, HE DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO PLANT POTATOES!'"
"You need a hoe instead of a shovel, and the hills should be made something like these," aunt Dorcas said, as she pointed to where Joe, thanks to her minute instructions, was performing his part of the task in almost a workmanlike manner.
Plums would have grumbled when the little woman insisted on his demolishing the grotesque mounds which had cost him so much labour, but that he remembered how dependent he was upon aunt Dorcas for food and shelter, and held his peace.