ons, and the whole front
fence is lined with them!"

"Poor Peace!" said Hope, when their laugh had ended. "She will be
heartbroken. She made her fortune a dozen times over on the blossoms
those vines are to bear."

"Yes," sighed Gail. "She has the happy faculty of trying to do one thing
and getting some unexpected, unheard-of result. Poor little blunderbus!
But what shall we do with these plants? There are enough to stock a
ranch. We can't leave them here, and I don't think they will bear
transplanting."

"And so they ain't sweet peas at all!" exclaimed a disappointed voice
behind them, and there stood Peace herself, contemplating her treasures
with solemn eyes.

"No, dear, they are pumpkins, I guess. What kind of seed did you plant?"

"I planted sweet pea seed," came the mournful reply. "Leastways the sack
said so. Hope read it herself."

"Yes, the sack was labelled plainly, but I never thought to examine the
seed. What did they look like?"

"They were black and flat."

"Melons," said Gail. "Well, I would rather have melons than pumpkins,
for we already have planted a lot of them. Still, it will spoil these to
transplant them, so they might just as well have been pumpkins. It is a
shame to have to throw them all away, though."

Peace said nothing, but in bitterness of heart helped pull up all the
green sprouts and throw them over the fence. Then she sat down beside
the heap to mourn over her fallen aircastles.

"Seems 's if I can't do anything like other folks," she sighed dismally.
"I plant sweet peas and get melons. I wonder if melons wouldn't sell
better than peas. Gail says these won't grow, but I am going to try them
anyway."

She filled her apron with the hapless plants and carried them away to
her small garden plot behind the shed, where she patiently set out every
one, regardless of the flower seeds already hid beneath the soil. And,
strange to say, they grew,--at least many of them did, choking out the
poppies and marigolds and balsams which finally climbed through the
three inches of ground the zealous gardener had hid them under, and
formed a thick tangle of promising vines.

Then the gophers began their destructive work, tunnelling the little
farm into a perfect labyrinth of underground passages, much to the
dismay of the little household, so dependent upon the success of their
crops. Traps were set, the holes were flooded, cats by the score were
let loose in the fields, but still the little