“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 that?” asked Hal.

“Because a potato that is cut, pierced or bruised badly will not keep as well as one that is sound and good.  It rots more quickly, and one rotten potato in a bin of good ones will cause many others to spoil, just as one rotten apple in a barrel of sound ones will spoil a great many.  So be careful when you dig your potatoes.”

Hal and Mab watched Daddy Blake, and then he let them pull a vine and dig in the hill after the brown tubers.  Out they came tumbling and rolling, as if glad to get into the light and sunshine.  For they had been down under the dark earth ever since the eyes were planted in the Spring, growing from tiny potatoes Into large ones.