“Now, Merton, I guess you can get another load, while I spread this heap and begin to dig;” and he went off with the horse and cart, having an increased idea of his importance.  I marked a long strip of the sunny slope, fifteen feet wide, and spread the manure evenly and thickly, for I had read, and my own sense confirmed the view, that a little ground well enriched would yield more than a good deal of poor land.  I then dug till my back ached; and I found that it began to ache pretty soon, for I was not accustomed to such toil.

“After the first seeds are in,” I muttered, “I’ll have the rest of the garden plowed.”

When I had dug down about four feet of the strip, I concluded to rest myself by a change of labor; so I took the rake and smoothed off the ground, stretched a garden line across it, and, with a sharp-pointed hoe, made a shallow trench, or drill.

“Now, Winnie and Bobsey,” I said, “it is time for you to do your part.  Just stick these little onions in the trench about four inches apart;” and I gave each of them a little stick of the right length to measure the distance; for they had vague ideas of four inches.  “Be sure,” I continued, “that you get the bottom of the onion down.  This is the top, and this is the bottom.  Press the onion in the soil just enough to make it stand firm, so.  That’s right.  Oh, you’re learning fast.  Now I can rest, you see, while you do the planting.”

In a few moments they had stuck the fifteen feet of shallow trench, or drill, full of onions, which I covered with earth, packing it lightly with my hoe.  I then moved the line fourteen inches further down and made another shallow drill.  In this way we soon had all the onion sets in the ground.  Merton came back with his load in time to see how it was done, and nodded his head approvingly.  I now felt rested enough to dig awhile, and Merton started off to the barn-yard again.  We next sowed, in even shallower drills, the little onion seed that looked like gunpowder, for my garden book said that the earlier this was planted the better.  We had completed only a few rows when Mr. Jones appeared, and said:  “Plantin’ onions here?  Why, neighbor, this ground is too dry and light for onions.”

“Is it?  Well, I knew I’d make mistakes.  I haven’t used near all my onion seed yet, however.”

“Oh, well, no great harm’s done.  You’ve made the ground rich, and, if we have a moist season, like enough they’ll do well.  P’raps it’s the best thing, after all, ’specially if you’ve put in the seed thick, as most people do.  Let ’em all grow, and you’ll have a lot of little onions, or sets, of your own raisin’ to plant early next spring.  Save the rest of your seed until you have some rich, strong, deep soil ready.  I came over to say that if this weather holds a day or two longer I’ll plow the garden; and I thought I’d tell you, so that you might get ready for me.  The sooner you get your early pertaters in the better.”