of the ground,
thinking them a sort of mouse. The mole's fur is very fine and soft, and
would make a fine cloak, only it would take many skins to make one large
enough to wear.

"Well, I'm glad Roly-Poly is all right," said Mab, as she took the little
dog from Hal, who was holding hint, and petted him on his head.

"Yes, you may put him down now," spoke her father. "And we'll go dig the
potatoes. Mother wants some for dinner, and I want to show you children
how to get them out of the ground. For we will soon be digging them to put
away for winter."

When Hal and Mab reached the potato part of the garden, which was the
largest of all the plots, the children saw that many of the green vines
were getting brown and withered.

"Why, the vines are dying!" exclaimed Mab. "Did a mole spoil them, Daddy?"

"No, but the potatoes have grown as large as they ever will be, and, there
being no more need of the vine, it is drying up. It has gone to seed, just
as a dandelion goes to seed, in a way, though we call the potatoes
'tubers' instead of seed. There may be potato seeds, that come when the
potato blossom dries up, for all I know, but I have always planted the
eyes of the tubers and so does everyone else. Now to show you how to dig."

[Illustration]

Mr. Blake had planted two kinds of potatoes, early and late, and it was
the vines of the early ones that had dried up. Later on the others would
dry, and then it would be time to dig their tubers to put down cellar
for the long Winter.

"First you pull up the vine," said Daddy Blake, and he tore one from the
earth, many of the potatoes clinging to it. These he picked off and put in
the basket. Then, with a potato hook, which is something like a spading
fork, only with the prongs curved downward like a rake, Daddy Blake began
scraping away the dirt from the side of the hill of potatoes.

"When a farmer has a big field of potatoes," said the children's father,
"he may use a machine potato-digger. This is drawn by horses, who walk
between the rows, drawing the machine right over where the potato vines
are growing. The machine has iron prongs which dig under the dirt like
giant fingers, turning out the potatoes which are tossed between the rows
of dirt so men, who follow, may pick them up. But we'll dig ours by hand.
And in digging potatoes you must be careful not to stick your fork, spade
or whatever you use, into the potato tubers, and so cutting them."

"Why can't we do tha