"Oh," said Mr. Jeminy, "squash. . . ."
He had left it out on purpose, because he disliked it. "You see," he said finally, looking about him artlessly, "there's no more room."
"Go away," said Mrs. Grumble.
From his seat under a tree, to which he had retired, Mr. Jeminy watched Mrs. Grumble mark the rows, hoe the straight, shallow furrows, drop in the seeds, and cover them with earth again. As he watched, half in indignation, he thought: "Thus, in other times, Ceres sowed the earth with seed, and, like Mrs. Grumble, planted my garden with squash. I would have asked her rather to sow melons here." Just then Mrs. Grumble came to the edge of the vegetable garden.
"Seed potatoes are over three dollars a bushel," she said: "it's hardly worth while putting them in."
"Then let's not put any in," Mr. Jeminy said promptly, "for they are difficult to weed, and when they are grown you must begin to quarrel with insects, for whose sake alone, I almost think, they grow at all."
"The bugs fall off," said Mrs. Grumble, "with a good shaking."
"Fie," said Mr. Jeminy, "how slovenly. It is better to kill them with lime. But it is best of all not to tempt them; then there is no need to kill them."
And as Mrs. Grumble made no reply, he added:
"That is something God has not learned yet."