The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1901-12-19
TOM BUTTS.

II wripgs the heart OF a man from a
fertile place to observe with what a depth
of tenderness the soil Of the remote New
foundland is cultivated To him, used 10
the sight OF large rewards, the labor
seems futile and tragic. He looks upon
the fisberman-farmer IS some old paddle
punt hand might look upon an inlander
who set out to catch 4 whale with a
bent pin and spool of thread Not only
the graveyards, but the gardens are made
by hand. The soil is gathered here and
there and everywhere. scraped from the
rocks, and dumped, year by year. IN
some sheltered place. until the new land
IS ready for the seed. 1t took twenty
years TO make the little garden where
Aunt Phoebe's black -cIrrant bushes and
roses marveilously prOlong starved eN-
istence. Past generations made the
meadow at Exploits from which men Of
today reap their pounds Of hay and
gather their quarts of potatoes. More
over. many Fogo garden once bios
somed il England. Not long ago soil
was imported and sold by weight. En-
glish gardens were shipped to New
foundland In the holds OF vessels bound
out for dried fsh.
BE you from New York, as they says,
sir" a man asked me, in a small har-
Dor of White Bay. Affirmativeiy an
swered. he continued: "Woant YOU come
things I've GROWN there. An It's En-
glish soil, sir. they thinks, an they be
dom well. Twould do your heart good
[ see UNI
This was Tom Butts, whose son had
sent him a package of assorted seeds
from Maine. Unhappily for Tom. the let
ter had been lost in the mails; nor was
there a label on a single package.
What be that, sir?" said he, pointing
to boo 4 = - -As.fT-
Corn said ].
Now. is un?' said he, stroking his
beard and smiling in an intensely graft
fed way. Sure. I've long wanted 10
know. So. he he earn. Ell? Hem m
Does you know what that is in the cor
ner?"
Ills a tomato plant" said I. Il
thought twas what they calls carrots.
''Iis tomato. you says; an tbs what
I thought was carrots. Well. we'll Would
you think o. that
Tom Butts was eager to rid himself of
the burden OF wonder which had so long
oppressed him-tremendously eager. He
had planted in wonder, and waited in
wonder, and tended in wonder. But he
WAS too polite or too cautious 70 be pre-
cipitate. The stranger must not be Of
Tended, must not be frightened away-this
stranger who had at last come to satisfy
his hearts warnings.
This" he said, stopping to caress a
small green plant, 50 is what 1 calls real
cabbage"
It's cabbage" said I.
Nov, is un2" Tom burst out, his
face radiant Sure I guessed the right,
didn't I? But they be a queer. queer
thing t'otherside o. the 'taters. Take a
look at un. sir IT'S like you never seed
such q thing afore. Aft o. the taters.
sir. Sure, It's that"
It was a pumpkin vine, all run TO
leaf; and it bore one broad yellow bios
som, which was then willing without
promise Of fruition.
lis but a flower, I think, sir" said
Tom. lis nothing to eat whatever"
'Tis a pumpkin" said I.
Tom looked up quickly. BE you
sure, said he, that you know IN? IT'S
like he went on doubtfully, they
grows in the gardens t New York; Well,
maybe It's a pumpkin. il you says so.
l hearn tell @ they things. Woan't you
have glass O. goats milk, sir? No?
Good-even, sir. IT'S a fine garden, this
now, bent un?'
Its a fine garden, sir" Isaid I: for.
as 1 looked into his glowing face, I HAD
no heart to call his child a cripple even
though she were one, when she was all
fair and glorious in his sight Norman
Duncan in Ainslee's Magazine.