A little later she and Hal happened to look out in front and they saw a queer sight.  Sammie was drawing along the sidewalk his little express wagon, in which he had piled some tomatoes.  They were large, ripe ones, and he must have picked them from his father’s vines, since he could not get through the fence into the Blake gardens.

“Oh, Sammie!” cried Mab, running out to him, “What are you doing with those tomatoes?”

“Sammie goin’ have a ‘mato store an’ sell ’em like you an’ Hal.  You want come my ’mato store?” he asked, looking up and smiling.

“No, I guess we have all the tomatoes we want,” laughed Hal.

Sammie did not seem to worry about this.  Maybe he thought some one else would buy his vegetables.  He wheeled his cart up near his own front fence, on the grass and sat down beside it.

“‘Mato store all ready,” he said.  “People come an’ buy now.”

But though several persons passed they did not ask Sammie how much his tomatoes were.  They may have thought he was only playing, and that his tomatoes were not good ones, though they really were nice and fresh.

“We’d better go tell his father or mother,” suggested Mab to her brother.  “I don’t believe they know he’s here.”

“Guess they don’t,” Hal agreed.  “Come on; he might get hurt out there all alone.”

Brother and sister started into the Porter yard.  They did not see Sammie’s mother, but his father was down in the back end of his lot, weeding an onion bed.

“Hello, children!” called Mr. Porter.  “Did you come over to see how my garden is growing?”

“We came to tell you about Sammie,” said Mab.  “He’s out—­”

“Hello!  Where is that little tyke?” cried Mr. Porter suddenly.  “He was here a little while ago, making believe hoe the weeds out of the potatoes.  I don’t see him,” he added, straightening up and looking among the rows of vegetables.

“He’s out in front trying to sell tomatoes,” said Hal.

“Oh my!” cried Sammie’s father.  “I told him not to pick anything, but you simply can’t watch him all the while.”

He ran out toward the front of the house, Hal and Mab following.  They saw Sammie seated on the ground near his express wagon, and he was squeezing a big red tomato, the juice and seeds running all over him.

“Sammie boy!  What in the world are doing?” cried his father.

“Sammie plantin’ ’mato,” was the answer.  “Nobody come to my store like Hal’s an’ Mab’s, so plant my ’matos.”

Then they saw where he had dug a hole in the ground with a stick, into this he was letting some of the tomato juice and seeds run, as he squeezed them between his chubby fingers.

“Oh, but you are a sight!” said Mr. Porter with a shake of his head.  “What your mother will say I don’t dare guess!  Here!  Drop that tomato, Sammie!  You’ve got more all over you than you have in the hole.  What are you trying to do?”