“Of all things!” laughed she, as she held out the box to show Mrs. James. “A shovel and a rake for my garden.”
Then it was Mrs. James’ turn to laugh. “That is not a shovel, nor is the other a rake, Natalie.”
“Oh, isn’t it? What is it, then?”
“The trowel is used when you wish to dig shallow holes, or loose-earth trenches. The so-called rake is a weeder that you can use about delicate roots, or in forcing deep roots to let go and come up. Both are very necessary for a farmer to use about his house-garden.”
“Well, if I ever have occasion to use them, I shall remember Janet.”
“Then you will be remembering her every day this summer, I think,” laughed Mrs. James. “Weeds are the pest of a farmer’s existence.”
Natalie was soon absorbed in her Scout book also, and Rachel was the only one of the trio who could tell about the scenery they passed as the train sped on to the nearest station to the secluded little village near the farm.
As the three travellers left the train and stood on the old platform of the country station, Natalie gazed about.
“My goodness! What a desert for isolation. Not a human being in sight, and no sign of a house or barn. Nothing but glaring sign-boards telling us where to stop in New York for a dollar per night—private bath extra!” exclaimed she.
Mrs. James laughed. It was true, but it sounded funny the way Natalie spoke.