The harvest day arrived,—the squashes were ripe,—and a fine parcel of them there was. Nat was satisfied with the fruit of his labor, as he gathered them for the market.
"What a pile of them!" exclaimed Frank, as he came over to see the squashes after school. "You are a capital gardener, Nat; I don't believe there is a finer lot of squashes in town."
"Father says the bugs and dry weather couldn't hold out against my perseverance," added Nat, laughing. "But the next thing is to sell them."
"Are you going to carry them to Boston?" asked Frank.
"No; I shall sell them in the village. Next Saturday afternoon I shall try my luck."
"You will turn peddler then?"
"Yes; but I don't think I shall like it so well as raising the squashes. There is real satisfaction in seeing them grow."
"If you can peddle as well as you can garden it, you will make a real good hand at it; and such handsome squashes as those ought to go off like hot cakes."
Saturday afternoon came, and Nat started with his little cart full of squashes. He was obliged to be his own horse, driver, and salesman, in which threefold capacity he served with considerable ability.
"Can I sell you some squashes to-day?" said Nat to the first neighbor on whom he called.