On the seventeenth day of June Hiram had “grappled out” a mess of potatoes for their dinner. They were larger than hen's eggs and came upon the table mealy and white.  
Potatoes were selling at retail¹ in Scoville for two dollars the bushel. Before the end of that week—after the lowland corn was planted—Hiram dug two rows of potatoes, sorted them, and carted them to town, together with some bunched beets², a few bunches of young carrots, radishes and salad.
 
The potatoes he sold for fifty cents the five-eighth basket, from house to house, and he brought back, for his load of vegetables, ten dollars and twenty cents, which he handed to Mrs. Atterson, much to that lady's joy.
 
“My soul and body, Hiram!” she exclaimed. “This is just a God-send—no less. Do you know that we've sold nigh twenty-five dollars' worth of stuff already this spring, besides that pair of pigs I let Pollock have, and the butter to St. Beris?”
 
“And it's only a beginning,” Hiram told her. “Wait til' the peas come along—we'll have a mess for the table in a few days now. And the sweet corn and tomatoes.
 
“If you and Sister can do the selling, it will help out a whole lot, of course. I wish we had another horse.”
 
“Or an automobile,” said Sister, clapping her hands. “Wouldn't it be fine to run into town in an auto³, with a lot of vegetables? Then Hiram could keep right at work with the horse and not have to stop to harness up for us.”
 
“Shucks, child!” admonished⁴ Mrs. Atterson. “What big idees you do get in that noddle o' yourn.”
 
The girls' boarding school and the two hotels proved good customers for Hiram's early vegetables; for nobody around Scoville had potatoes at this time, and Hiram's early peas were two weeks ahead of other people's.
 
Having got a certain number of towns folks to expect him at least thrice a week, when other farmers had green stuff for sale they could not easily “cut out” Hiram later in the season.
 
And not always did the young farmer have to leave his work at home to deliver the vegetables and Mrs. Atterson's butter. Sister, or the old lady herself, could go to town if the load was not too heavy.
 
Of course, it cost considerable to live. And hogfood and grain for the horse and cow had to be bought. Hiram was fattening⁵ four of the spring shoats against winter. Two they could sell and two kill for their own use.
 
“Goin' to be big doin's on the Fourth this year, Hiram,” said Henry Pollock, meeting the young farmer on the road from town one day. “Heard about it?”
 
“In Scoville, do you mean? They're going to have a 'Safe and Sane⁶' Fourth, the Banner says.”
 
“Nope. We don't think much of goin' to town Fourth of July. And this year there's goin' to be a big picnic in Langdon's Grove⁷—that's up the river, you know.”
 
“A public picnic?”
 
“Sure. A barbecue, we call it,” said Henry. “We have one at the Grove ev'ry year. This time the two Sunday Schools is goin' to join and have a big time. You and Sister don't want to miss it. That Mr. Bronson's goin' to give a whole side o' beef, they tell me, to roast over the fires.”
 
“A big banquet is in prospect⁸, is it?” asked Hiram, smiling.
 
“And a stew⁹! Gee¹⁰! you never eat one o' these barbecue stews¹¹, did ye? Some of us will go huntin' the day before, and there'll be birds, and squirrels, as well as chickens in that stew—and lima beans, and corn, and everything good you can think of!” and Henry smacked¹² his lips in prospect.
 
Then he added, bethinking himself of his errand:
 
“Everybody chips in and gives the things to eat. What'll you give, Hiram?”
 
“Some vegetables,” said Hiram, quickly. “Mrs. Atterson won't object, I guess. Do they want tomatoes for their stew?”
 
“Won't be no tomatoes ripe, Hiram,” said Henry, decidedly.
 
“There won't, eh? You come out and take a look at mine,” said Hiram, laughing.
 
Of all the rows of vegetables in Hiram's garden plot, the thriftiest¹³ and handsomest were the trellised tomato plants. It took nearly half of Sister's time to keep the plants tied up and pinched back, as Hiram had taught her.
 
But the stalks were already heavily laden¹⁴ with fruit; and those hanging lowest on the sturdy vines were already blushing.
 
“By Jo!” gasped¹⁵ Henry. “You've done it, ain't you? But the cannery won't take 'em yet awhile—and they'll all be gone before September.”
 
“The cannery won't get many of my tomatoes,” laughed Hiram. “And these vines properly trained and cultivated as they are, will bear fruit up to frost. You wait and see.”
 
&l............