The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1901-12-08
NEWFOUNDLAND FARMS.
Graveyards and Gardens the Work of
generations.
Norman Duncan. in Ainslee's Magazine.

Norman Duncan, in Ainslee's Magazine.
1t wrings 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 to
the sight of large rewards, the labor seems
futile and tragic. He looks upon the fisher
man-farmer as some old paddle-punt hand
might look upon an inlander who set out to
catch a whale with a bent pin and a spool
of thread. Not only the graveyards, but
the gardens are made by hand. The soil is
gathered here and there and verywh
scrapeG from the rocks, and Jumped, 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 currant bushes
and roses marvelously p~rOlong a starved
existence. Past generations made the
meadow at Exploits from which men of to-
day reap their pounds of hay and gather
their quarts of potatoes. Moreover, many
a FogO garden once blOsSOmed in England.
Not long ago soil was imported and sold by
weight. English gardens We're shipped to
Newfoundland in the holds of vessels
bound out for dried fish.
BE you from New Yark, as they says.
sir?' a man asked me, in a small harbOr
of White bay. Afirmatively answered, he
continued, "WOan't you come out L my
garden, sir? It's some queer things I've
CROWN there. An it's English soil, sir,
they thinks. an they be dOin' we'll. 'Twould
do your heart good t see UNI"
This was Tom Butts, whose son had sent
him a package of assorted seeds from
$3.50 ~
been lost in the mails; nor was there a
label on a single package.
What be that, Sir?" said he, pointing TO
a haggard growth of stalks.
Corn" said l..
Now. is un?' said he, stroking his beard
and smiling in an intensely g~ratified way.
Sure. I've long wanted to know. So, he be
earn, Ell? Hem-m-mi Does you know what
that is in the carner?"
IT'S a tomato plant" said 1.
Now, is un?" said he. Il thought twas
what they calls carrots. 'Tis a tomato,
you says; an tbs what 1 thought was car
rOts. 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-tremulOusly eager. He had
planted in wonder, and waited in wonder,
and tended in wonder. But he was too pO-
lite or too cautious to be precipitate. The
stranger must not be offended, must not be
frightened away-this stranger who had at
last come to satisfy his hearts yearnings.
This" he said, STOPPING to caress a
small green plant, lis what 1 calls real
cabbage"
It's cabbage" said l..
Now, is un?" Tom burst out. his face
radiant. Sure, L guessed the right, didn't
j But they be a queer. queer thing tOther
side o the 'taters. Take a look at un, sir.
It's like you never seed such a thing afore.
Aft O. the 'taters. sir. Sure, tits that"
1t was a pumpkin vine, all run to leaf;
and it bore one broad yellow blossom,
which was then whiting without promise
OF %fruition.
"'Tis but a flower, I think sir" said
Tom. "'Tis nothing TO eat. whatever"
IT'S a pumpkin" said l..
Tom looked UP quickly. BE you sure. 8"
said he. that YOU know un? IT'S like he
went on doubtfully. they grows in the
gardens t New Yark? Well, maybe, tbs a
pumpkin, if you says SO. l hearn tell O.
they things. Woan't you have a glass o.
goats milk. sir? No? GOOd-even. sir. 'Tis
a fine garden, this-nOw. bent un?"
Tis a fine garden. sir" said /: for. as l
looked into his glowing face, had no heart
10 call his child a cripple, even though she
were one. when she was all fair and glori-
Gus in his sight.