“Did he mix in the doctorings every year, too?” asked Natalie.
“Sure! That’s why he sent little boxes of dirt to Washerton—to find out just what to use in certain qualities of sile.”
“Then I ought to do it, too, hadn’t I?” asked she.
“Not this year, ’cause he said the last year he did it, that now he could skip a year or two. But you’ve gotta mix in good fertilizer before you plant. Then you’se kin laff at all us old fogy farmers what stick to old-fashioned ways.”
Farmer Ames laughed heartily as if to encourage his young student, and to show how she might laugh after harvesting. Natalie gazed at him with a fascinated manner, for his lower lip had such a peculiar way of being sucked in under his upper teeth when he laughed. Not until Mrs. James explained this, by saying that Farmer Ames had no lower teeth, did she lose interest in this mannerism.
“I know all about the tools a farmer has to use in his work, Mr. Ames,” bragged Natalie.
“Oh, do yeh? Wall then, you kin get the rake and hoe, and fix up the sile where the plough is done turned it up.”
Natalie remembered the paragraph in “Scouting for Girls” and asked: “Shall I bring the spade, too?”
Just then, Mr. Ames stubbed his toe against a large stone that had been turned out of its bed. He grumbled forth: “Better git a pickaxe and crowbar.”
“My book didn’t mention crowbars and pickaxes, Mr. Ames, so I don’t know what they are,” ventured Natalie modestly.