We will suppose the work has been done in the spring, as early as the earth was dry enough to crumble freely, and that the surface of the bed is smooth, mellow, and ready for the plants.  Stretch a garden line down the length of the plot two feet from the outer edge, and set the plants along the line one foot apart from each other.  Let the roots be spread out, not buried in a mat, the earth pressed firmly against them, and the crown of the plant be exactly even with the surface of the soil, which should also be pressed closely around it with the fingers.  This may seem minute detail, yet much dismal experience proves it to be essential.  I have employed scores of men, and the great majority at first would either bury the crowns out of sight, or else leave part of the roots exposed, and the remainder so loose in the soil that a sharp gale would blow the plants away.  There is no one so economical of time as the hired man whose time is paid for.  He is ever bent on saving a minute or half-minute in this kind of work.  On one occasion I had to reset a good part of an acre on which my men had saved time in planting.  If I had asked them to save the plants in the year of ’86, they might have “struck.”

The first row having been set out, I advise that the line be moved forward three feet.  This would make the rows three feet apart—­not too far in ground prepared as described, and in view of the subsequent method of cultivation.  The bed may therefore be filled up in this ratio, the plants one foot apart in the row, and the rows three feet apart.  The next point in my system, for the kind of soil named (for light, sandy soils another plan will be indicated), is to regard each plant as an individual that is to be developed to the utmost.  Of course only young plants of the previous season’s growth should be used.  If a plant has old, woody, black roots, throw it away.  Plants set out in April will begin to blossom in May.  These buds and blossoms should be picked off ruthlessly as soon as they appear.  Never does avarice overreach itself more completely than when plants are permitted to bear the same season in which they are set out.  The young, half-established plant is drained of its vitality in producing a little imperfect fruit; yet this is permitted even by farmers who would hold up their hands at the idea of harnessing a colt to a plow.

The plants do not know anything about our purpose in regard to them.  They merely seek to follow the law of Nature to propagate themselves, first by seeds which, strictly speaking, are the fruit, and then by runners.  These slender, tendril-like growths begin to appear early in summer, and if left unchecked will mat the ground about the parent with young plants by late autumn.  If we wish plants, let them grow by all means; but if fruit is our object, why should we let them grow?  “Because nearly every one seems to do it,” would be, perhaps, the most rational answer.  This is a mistake, for many are beginning to take just the opposite course even when growing strawberries by the acre.