“But the time we had with that old steed,” Nathalie’s eyes gleamed humorously, “for just as he would be going nicely across the field, he would be inspired to take the ‘rest-cure’ and stand stock-still, and no amount of pulling—we all got behind him and pushed—or coaxing would induce him to budge a hair. O dear, we worked over him until we thought we should expire with the heat, our faces all red and perspiring.
“Then Edith took to pulling his tail; she said she had read that would make a balky horse go. Oh, it was funny to see her!” Nathalie laughed outright. “But, dear me, it only made him lift one leg, very slowly, and then the other, and then settle down in the same old rut, as still as the wooden horse of Troy.
“You know Edith is a stick-at-the-job sort of person,” commented Nathalie confidentially, “and what do you think? She actually got a firecracker and set it off under that beast. But even that fiery commotion only caused him to wink one lash and then resume his restful pose. But finally the spirit moved him, and so suddenly,” laughed the girl, “that Edith went sprawling on the ground, and Jessie tumbled in a most humble attitude,—on her knees,—minus the reins, while our noble steed went careering at a loping gallop across the field, while we, like a lot of mutes, stared at him in stupid wonder.
“Well, after we got the land all plowed,” resumed Nathalie, “we had irrigated it, by making a little ditch to let the water run down from the hilly slope at one end, we planted our vegetables in rows. But alas,” the girl gave a sigh, “when the plants began to come up we found that the whole field was filled with coarse rye-grass which had roots, and which had simply been cultivated, one might say, by the plow.
“We did not know what to do at first, until we remembered our Pioneer motto, ‘I Can,’ and then we set to work with a will, and spaded every inch of that lot; and it meant hard labor, too, for the grass was like gristle. When the little plants began to come up and a girl would pull a blade to see how it was doing, part of the plant would come up with the roots. When we planted the different kinds of beans, using the string and stakes, and pressing down the ground hard with our feet, on five different occasions a violent rain came up during the night, and the next morning we found all the seeds uncovered and washed down into little piles at the end of the garden, and everything had to be done over again.
“After we had planted rows and rows of hills of corn and rejoiced to see coming forth little green plumes three inches high, we went to the garden in our uniforms one day, laden with our garden-tools, ready for work. But alas! we found that the crows had pulled out the corn from almost every hill; the little black imps had bitten off the kernels and gulped them down, and the stalks lay withering on the ground.
“Oh, I shall never forget the expression on Edith’s face that day,” said Nathalie thoughtfully, “when she saw the havoc wrought by those crows; it was such utter despair. I thought she was going to cry, but she didn’t—just hurried to the little shed where we keep our tools and things. When she reappeared her face was a sunbeam all right, as she exclaimed, ‘Well, girls, let’s get the better of those crows, and plant all over again.’
“Really, Mrs. Morrow, Edith inspired me to such respect for her indomitable courage and pluck,” went on the girl candidly, “that I shall always keep a very warm place in my heart for her, notwithstanding that she sometimes gets on my nerves. Things went on swimmingly then until that awful drought came. We had no way of watering the garden except by watering-pots, and then we couldn’t do our weeding, or cultivating, until late in the afternoon on account of the hot sun. But we did our best, and we have been repaid,” smiled Nathalie, “although we did not produce as much as I had hoped. Still—well, you’ll see at the pageant to-morrow.” Nathalie, suddenly realizing that she had kept Mrs. Morrow standing for some time, while she rattled on about that garden, now bade her a hasty good-morning and hurried into the bank.
The young president of the Liberty Girls’ club passed a somewhat troubled night, oppressed with the anxiety of her onerous responsibility, knowing that the following day would be a well-filled one. As the proposer and planner of the pageant there were numerous details to arrange at the very last moment, and she was so afraid that she would oversleep, that she awakened several times with a nervous start, only to find everything enveloped in darkness.
Arousing finally, to see the East streaked with red, and the golden rim of the sun gleaming above a silver line of clouds, she sprang out of bed with a devout little prayer of thankfulness that the day at least was to be a sunshiny one. An early breakfast, a hurried doing of her customary duties, and then she and Grace—in the latter’s car—were off to inspect the floats, eighteen of them, all ready in barns, or garages, awaiting her word that they were properly equipped for the liberty parade, which was to set forth on its journey through the town at two in the afternoon.