gardening I can't give up, nor the seed catalogues.

The one in my hands was exceptionally radiant, and exceptionally full
of Novelties and Specialties for the New Year, among them being an
extraordinary new pole bean--an Improved Kentucky Wonder. She had
backed away, as I have said, and instead of looking at the page of
beans, looked solemnly at me; then with something sorrowful, something
somewhat Sunday-like in her voice, an echo, I presume, of lessons in
the Catechism, she asked me--

"Who makes you plant beans?"

"My dear," I began, "I--"

"How many meals of pole beans did we eat last summer?"

"I--don't--re--"

"Three--just three," she answered. "And I think you must remember how
many of that row of poles we picked?"

"Why, yes, I--"

"Three--just three out of thirty poles! Now, do you think you remember
how many bushels of those beans went utterly unpicked?"

I was visibly weakening by this time.

"Three--do you think?"