“jist as soon’s you finish yer dinner an’ yer noon chores, moses, i want you to go weed them beets,” instructed mrs. wopp. “the weeds is chokin’ them out an’ i see the gophers has been eatin’ some o’ them, too.”
“when i do my dishes, mar, can i work in the garding, too?” inquired betty.
“to be shore you kin,” was the reply, “but don’t hurry too much an’ smarsh the crockery.”
although the temptation to reckless haste was great, betty resisted it. it was not long, however, before a pile of shining blue willow-ware was restored to its accustomed place on the oil-cloth-covered pantry shelves, and betty, seizing her sunbonnet, hurried out of doors.
the sun shone brightly and the atmosphere had that brilliant clarity, peculiar to the prairie. several chattering magpies strutted on the grassplot between the house and the barn. betty ran around to the further side of the house where lay the garden. here moses and his mother were already hard at work.
the whole garden had been fenced in as a precaution against the encroachment of predatory animals. molly, the inquisitive black cow, or josh and jake, who had no proper sense of the fitness of things, would have liked nothing better than to sample mrs. wopp’s prize turnips and scanty crop of indian corn, and to trample into the soft earth whatever did not suit their dainty palates.
one corner of the garden was devoted to flowers, and in this spot the soul of betty delighted. true, there had been many insidious foes to conquer before a satisfactory result had been obtained. the seedlings which had first appeared in the spring had been destroyed by a cruel frost. other seeds were sown with many hopes. these grew feebly and were carefully tended by the child. then the heavy rains came, lasting several weeks, and it seemed as though the tender plants would be bodily washed away. betty, clad in moses’ slicker, visited them one stormy day, and as she realized their danger, her tears mingled with the rain-drops on her cheeks. but the storm-king was only acting his worst, because his reign was nearly over. next morning, when betty rose, the clouds had rolled away and the golden sun himself was peering at her through the curtains. since that time of anxiety the plants had grown and thrived and excepting for an occasional day of strong winds and the nibblings of a few gophers, had had no setbacks.
around the outside of the garden was a border of fragrant mignonette. inside of this was another of white candytuft. this double wall encircled a splendid array of flowers. there were dwarf nasturtiums, red and yellow, a tangled mass of sweet peas clambering up a yard or two of chickenwire, bright marigolds and asters of various colors. velvet pansies added their soft charms to the display. but most brilliant of all stood a few hollyhocks. many of their kin had perished in a struggle against the fierce winds.
outside of the flower garden proper and between it and the vegetables, were several rows of gay sunflowers. mr. wopp approved of these mightily, because the seeds were “sich grand feed for the chickings.” betty looked on these gaudy sentinels with sorrowing pity, because they had not the daintiness of the other flowers.
diligently as betty had tended this little garden, it was considered to be a family possession, the child’s own particular treasures lying beyond its fragrant border. her cherished morning-glories and climbing nasturtiums found a welcome support in the old wooden fence.
when betty entered the open garden gate she noticed nancy sitting patiently beside a gopher hole watching for the tiny inmate to appear. in order not to disturb her pet, the child took a roundabout course to the beet patch where moses and mrs. wopp were working.
“afore i begin weedin’,” she announced, “i b’lieve i’ll make two bouquets, one orl yaller an’ one orl white, an’ some sparrer-grass in both.”
“they’d look purtier, glory, ef you’d put more colors in,” commented mrs. wopp.
thoroughly enjoying her task, betty flitted from flower to flower until she had gathered an armful of the lovely blossoms. then visiting the vegetable beds she appropriated a few feathery sprays of asparagus. returning to the house, she made up her bouquets. one, a great mass of yellow, lightly flecked with green, she set on a small table which stood in the darkest corner of the dining-room, then stood back to view the effect.
“it looks jist as ef the sun had crept into that corner at larst,” she decided.
after setting her white bouquet on the large dining-table, betty again hastened to her beloved garden and began weeding where her ministrations were needed. as she worked, she hummed “sweet and low” softly to herself. the school children had lately learned to sing it.
“i carn’t think what’s happened to my carrots this year,” said mrs. wopp, vexedly, after a time. “hardly any hev come up, an’ them as did come, aint growed much. we’ll shorely not hev many carrot puddin’s nor pies this winter, nor mulligans neither.” the concluding part of this speech was of vital interest to moses, who delighted in all the delicacies mentioned.
“mebbe them new seed catalogue folks cheated us, mar,” he suggested.
“mebbe you’re right, moses; mebbe the seed was no good,” sighed mrs. wopp. “anyhow, it’s too late now to put in any more. we carnt know ef the heart o’ a seed is good no more nor we kin know the heart o’ our next-door neighbor. the seed may ’pear to be good enough from the outside, yet arter all be mighty lackin’.”
a period of silence followed excepting for the slight sounds made by the workers, the drowsy humming of flies, the murmur of an occasional bee and the faint rustlings of the tall stalks of corn.
“i guess nancy’s got tired wartchin’ fer the gopher to come out,” remarked betty, presently. “she’s left her job an’ gone away. p’raps she thinks she can git a mouse in the barn easier.”
“moses, i hear yer par comin’ with the hay,” announced mrs. wopp, suddenly. “you’ll hev to go help him with it.”
not unwillingly the boy relinquished his task. weeding after all is thankless work. the weeds will persist in growing in spite of every discouragement.
when moses reached the barn he found mr. wopp just drawing up his team of heavy-work horses beside a small corral where the hay was to be deposited. on the load beside mr. wopp. moses’ wondering eyes beheld jethro—jethro whose greatest joy was to run beside any vehicle and range the country as far as he could on both sides of the trail.
“what’s jeth perched up there fer, par?” demanded the boy.
before answering, mr. wopp solemnly handed moses first the reins then the dog, after which he slowly and carefully descended himself.
“two coyotes most hed him,” he explained. “jist near the big slough, the spunky little critter started chasin’ them. then they turned on him an’ he done some fine sprintin’. i tried to turn the team to go an’ meet him, but the hosses acted up, an’ as soon as i got them quieter the dog was atween them an’ the coyotes slinkin’ away. it were a close shave fer him.”
moses eyed his pet with solicitude. “pore little beggar, he’s clean tuckered out,” he said. “he’ll need a good supper.” according to moses’ idea, an excellent meal was the panacea for all earthly troubles.
the wopps, father and son, attacked the load of hay with such vigor that it was quickly disposed of. just as the last forkful was being pitched over the corral fence, the boy looking up saw a vehicle approaching.
“here’s mis’ mifsud an’ st. elmo comin’ in the buckboard,” he announced.
“you’d best go an’ take her hoss, moses,” directed mr. wopp. then raising his voice he called, “go right on into the house, mis’ mifsud. lize has jist gone in from the garden.”
st. elmo hung back, electing to stay with the hero who had rescued him from the dangers of the wood.
when moses, accompanied by his small attendant, returned to his unfinished task in the garden, he found betty still at work. she was weeding the pansy bed. st. elmo clapped his chubby hands in delight.
“oh, betty,” he begged, “pease dive me some.”
betty picked him a small bouquet. she knew that in the child’s hot grasp the flowers would soon droop and she loved them so dearly that she grieved to see them wither and die. st. elmo, however, was not satisfied.
“won’t you dive elmo some wed ones, too?” he pleaded.
“the fairies might git cross,” countered betty.
“is theh faywies wound heah, betty? can they see us?” inquired the little boy in awe-struck tones.
“lots o’ them, st. elmo. i seen some the other evenin’ in the moonlight. some was dressed in green an’ silver, some in white an’ silver. they danced in an’ out among the sunflowers.”
“can’t i see the faywies some time, betty?” asked st. elmo.
“only little girls see fairies ever,” was the reply.
“what else did they do ’sides dancing, betty?” questioned st. elmo.
betty reflected a moment. “when they got tired dancing they ’journed to the pansy bed. the queen set down on a big purple pansy that was jist like a lovely throne. the other fairies came an’ bowed low in front o’ her, then they gathered up their long silver trains an’ walked backwards. then the queen rose up an’ walked all round among the flowers an’ the other fairies follered her. they waved their wands over all the flower beds, an’ that’s why they’ve all growed so lovely.”
st. elmo looked at the specimens in his hand. “these pansies is most deaded. i fink i’ll fwow them away,” he declared.
“no, no, dear. keep them, an’ i’ll put them in warter when we go to the house,” begged betty. “the fairies are orful cross when they see dead flowers lyin’ round. mebbe they might be too angry to come in the garding again ever.”
this threatened catastrophe had considerable weight with st. elmo who, in spite of betty’s discouraging words, still had a lurking hope that he too might be privileged to see the “faywies” some day. although he was badly handicapped in being a boy, yet in some miraculous manner there might be an exception made in his favor.
“i b’lieve i’ll go an’ git the warterin’ can,” announced betty. “these pansies is orful dry, an’ even ef the sun is shinin’ on them, some warter round the roots wont hurt. you stay here, st. elmo, an’ i’ll be back in a minute.”
st. elmo willingly consented. his mind was still running on the wonderful story betty had told him. perhaps the fairies would show themselves now betty had gone. a few moments before, moses had thrown down his hoe and departed to the barn, so the little boy was quite alone. he stood eagerly watching the sunflower patch where the fairies had appeared on at least one occasion.
while betty had been busy in the garden her pet turkey, job, who depended on his little mistress to feed him, became very hungry. job suffered under great disadvantages. his general one-sided condition, caused by his partial blindness, rendered him incapable of picking up the various dainties on which his brethren fattened. it must be confessed that the fondest and most partial vision could not overlook job’s undoubted scrawniness. indeed, had he not received individual attention from the deeply sympathetic betty, there is every reason to believe that his career would have been shortened by that inexorable law which, in those forms of life termed the lower, decrees the extinction of the weak.
betty had a conviction, though an unspoken one, that moses was the primary cause of job’s infirmity. the slowest of a large family of striped fluffy turkeys to emerge from the shell, he had been assisted in his efforts by the impatient moses. betty felt sure that the clumsy fingers of the boy had ruined the little turkey’s eye. the accusation, however, was too dreadful to be put into words.
while betty, mounted on a bench in the shed, was getting down her watering-can, job, who during the afternoon had searched diligently but vainly for her, rounded the corner of the garden fence. he noted the open gate and sped towards it. as he entered the garden his eye fell on st. elmo who stood absorbed and expectant. the turkey, his odd corner-wise gait accentuated by his anxiety of mind, rushed towards the child who at first did not notice his approach. but presently, turning around, st. elmo beheld an apparently formidable assailant which by the most powerful flight of imagination could not be mistaken for a fairy. all escape by way of the gate was shut off by the intruder. st. elmo’s plump legs, bare above his low socks, twinkled as he ran wildly towards the foot of the garden.
“mudgie, mudgie,” he shrieked.
job, his ardor undampened by the strangeness of this reception, made haste to follow.
“mudgie, mudgie, come to elmo.”
the frenzied cries of the child were distinctly audible in the kitchen where sat mrs. mifsud and mrs. wopp, the latter busily engaged in mending a pile of socks. both ladies sprang to their feet and hurried through the open door towards the garden, mrs. wopp still wearing a half-darned sock on her left hand and scattering others as she ran. they were followed by betty, who had been filling her watering-can from the rain-barrel and had also heard the cries of the frightened child.
mrs. mifsud, in the lead of the rescuing party, ran through the garden gate in time to see st. elmo fall headlong, his feet having become entangled in the long rank grass near the fence.
“what’s the trouble, dear? what were you afraid of?” she enquired, as she raised him to his feet.
before answering, the child glanced fearfully around to see if his uncanny foe had gone, and he was relieved to find that job was hastening to meet his ever-constant friend betty who had just entered the garden. betty’s progress had been greatly retarded by the weight of the brimimng watering-can, which she had not stopped to set down though the contents had splashed freely over her dress and shoes.
st. elmo cast about in his mind for some plausible explanation of his recent panic. it would never do to inform the world that he had been afraid of a mere turkey.
“elmo saw some gween and white faywies,” he fabricated, “and wanted mudgie to see them too.”
“mudgie never saw any fairies,” replied mrs. mifsud, “but she is glad st. elmo can see them.”
mrs. wopp, after ascertaining that the little boy had received no bodily injury, stood mopping her heated face with the half-mended sock. she ceased operations to survey betty more carefully.
“betty wopp,” she exclaimed, “you couldn’t be no wetter ef you’d fell in the big slough. come on to the house an’ change yer clothes. st. elmo ’ll need warshin’, too, i reckon.”
as the party, now restored to composure, left the garden, mrs. mifsud remarked with her usual aptness, “i occasionally experience premonitions, mrs. wopp, that st. elmo will some day attain celebrity as a clairvoyant.”
