"Ah," said another voice, with a dry chuckle like salt shaken in a saltcellar, "well, that's good."
"Who speaks?" cried Mr. Jeminy.
"What," exclaimed the voice, "don't you know me, old friend? I am plus and minus; I am weights and measures. . . ."
"Lord ha' mercy," cried Mrs. Grumble from the floor, "have you gone mad? Whatever are you doing, standing there, with your mouth open?"
"Eh!" said Mr. Jeminy, stupidly. "I was dreaming."
A red squirrel sped across the path, and stopped a moment in the doorway, his tail arched above his back, his bright, black eyes peering without envy at Mrs. Grumble, as she bent above the pail of soap-suds. Then, with a flirt of his tail, he hurried away, to hide from other squirrels the nuts, seeds, and acorns strewn by the winds of the autumn impartially over the earth.
In the afternoon, Mr. Jeminy went into his garden, and began to measure off rows of vegetables. "Two rows of beans," he said, "and two of radishes; they grow anywhere. I'll get Crabbe to give me onion sets, cabbages, and tomato plants. Two rows of peas, and one of lettuce; I must have fine soil for my lettuce, and I must remember to plant my peas deeply. A row of beets. . . ."
"Where," said Mrs. Grumble, who stood beside him, holding the hoe, "are you going to plant squash?"
". . . and carrots," continued Mr. Jeminy hurriedly. . . .
"We must certainly have a few hills of squash," said Mrs. Grumble firmly.