"No," said Hope, laughing. "I never dared to tell you about the Irish potatoes. Something has eaten them all up: Uncle Spafford says it is gophers."
"What is a gopher?" asked Merry. "Is it any relation to the gryphon?"
"It is a sagacious variety of snapping-turtle," replied the Invalid, "which walks about seeking what it may devour."
"And devours my potatoes," said Hope. "But we have got the better of the rabbits and the coons, and I don't despair next year even of the gophers and salamanders."
"Even victory may be purchased too dearly," said the Pessimist.
"After all, the experiment has not been so expensive a one," said the Invalid, laying down the neatly-kept farm-ledger, which he had been examining. "The orange trees are a good investment—our one bearing tree has proved that—and as for the money our farming experiment has cost us, we should have spent as much, I dare say, had we lived at the hotel, and not have been one half as comfortable."
"It is a cozy little home," admitted the Pessimist, looking about the pretty room, now thrown wide open to the early summer and with a huge pot of creamy magnolia-blooms in the great chimney.
"It is the pleasantest winter I ever spent," said Merry enthusiastically.
"Except that dreadful evening when the account of the peas came," said Hope, drawing a long breath. "But I should like to try it again: I shall never be quite satisfied till I have made peas and cucumbers profitable."
"Then, all I have to say is, that you are destined to drag out an unsatisfied existence," said the Pessimist.