The Mary Frances Garden Book

CHAPTER I. Feather Flop, the Garden Boss

FEATHER FLOP, THE GARDEN BOSS

“OH, dear, I can’t understand a word this book says,” sighed Mary Frances, who was sitting on the garden bench, looking over a seed catalogue. “I can’t understand it!”

“Of course you can’t,” said a strange voice. “Not without help.”

Mary Frances was startled; she looked about, but saw no one.

“Why, who can it be?” she exclaimed.

“You can’t without help, I said.”

Feather Flop, the big Rhode Island Red rooster, came strutting around the corner of the bench.

“Why, is it you?” cried Mary Frances. “What do you know about gardening?”

“I ought to know a lot about gardening. I’ve lived in a garden most of the time ever since I was hatched,” shrilled Feather Flop.

“Yes, you have,” laughed Mary Frances, “and you’ve eaten up what you oughtn’t to, too.”

“That was when I was bad. I’m going to be good now.”

“Oh, well, that is different,” replied Mary Frances. “What’s the first thing to do?”

“Let me see,” said Feather Flop, scratching his head with one foot. “Let me see—why, the first thing—the first thing is to get the ground ready!”

“What do you do to get it ready?” asked Mary Frances.

“Why, dig, of course,” answered Feather Flop. “I can dig.”

“Well, well,” replied Mary Frances, “I see you really want to help me, so we’ll plan out what we’re going to do. I want all kinds of flowers and vegetables.”

“Did you start the seeds in the house in March so that some would be ready to set out now?” asked Feather Flop anxiously.

“Oh, no,” said Mary Frances, “but Billy did. He has a lot of little seedlings growing.”

“Can’t you steal some?” asked Feather Flop.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that, Feather Flop,” said Mary Frances. “Would you? I’d rather ask Billy for them.”

“Don’t say anything about me when you do,” begged the rooster.

“Why?” queried Mary Frances.

“I’m afraid of him. He’s chased me out of the——”

“Vegetable garden several times this Spring, already,” laughed Mary Frances. “Maybe if he knew how much you wanted to help with this surprise garden of mine, he would be kinder to you.”

“He’s kind enough,” said Feather Flop, “but I’m not anxious to know him much better yet a while. So I’ll ask you not to mention me.”

“All right,” agreed Mary Frances, “I think I understand. But Billy wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Do you really wish me to help you, Miss Mary Frances?” asked the rooster.

“I certainly do, Feather Flop,” said the little girl; “if you will be so kind.”

She could scarcely keep from laughing at how pleased and proud he looked.

“Then, let us take a look at the garden plot,” he said, leading the way to the front of Mary Frances’ play house.

“I’ll set right to work,” said Feather Flop, beginning to scratch, “right to work, and dig the whole afternoon, and early to-morrow morning, too.”

“Don’t work too hard,” said the little girl. “I think I ought to help you.”

“Oh, no, little Miss,” answered Feather Flop. “Why, see what’s done already.”

Mary Frances put her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing aloud as she looked at the little round hole the rooster had made.

“You do splendidly,” she said, “and to-morrow morning I’ll be here bright and early.”

“Just one question,” called Feather Flop. “Is the garden a secret?”

Mary Frances turned back. “In a way,” she explained. “You see, Father gave Billy a part of our big garden for his camp and garden——”

“I know,” said Feather Flop, nodding. “I was down there one day—and I don’t care to go again.”

“I wanted to ask Father for a garden plot of my own,” went on Mary Frances, “but Billy said, ‘Why don’t you have a flower garden in front of your play house, and a vegetable garden back of it and surprise all the folks?’ You can’t imagine, Feather Flop, how delighted I was with that idea.”

“Fine idea!” agreed Feather Flop, scratching again. “Won’t it be splendid when the things grow!”

“And won’t it be a perfectly lovely surprise!” cried Mary Frances.

“I won’t tell anybody,” volunteered Feather Flop. “It will be grand to have a real secret with someone.”

“Oh, thank you, good old Feather Flop,” answered Mary Frances. “Are you certain you don’t want me to help spade up the garden?”

“Claws were made before spades,” said Feather Flop, scratching away. “I’d like to do this myself, please. Come bright and early in the morning when you hear me crow.”

CHAPTER II. Feather Flop Oversleeps

FEATHER FLOP OVERSLEEPS

VERY early in the morning Mary Frances awoke and listened a long time for Feather Flop’s signal, but not a sound was to be heard except the faint crowing of a distant rooster at the far end of the village.

“I expect he crowed before I was awake,” concluded Mary Frances, as she quickly dressed and went down-stairs on tiptoe.

The sun was just getting up as she ran out into the garden.

“Hello, Feather Flop,” she called softly as she hurried along, but there was not a sight or sound of Mr. Rooster.

“Mercy,” she thought, “I hope nothing’s happened to him. Where can he be? Oh, see, he’s dug—let me count,” (counting them off) “eighteen holes! My, it must have tired him out.”

“But where can he be?” she went on, and called again and again as loudly as she dared:

“Feather Flop!”

“Feather Flop!”

“FEATHER FLOP!”

“Oh, maybe he’s in my play house!” she suddenly thought and ran to look. And there he was—where do you think? Fast asleep in one of the doll’s beds with the covers tucked close up under his bill!

“Well, you’re a funny kind of a gardener,” laughed Mary Frances as soon as she recovered from her astonishment. “Here it is long past crowing time.”

Feather Flop turned over. Then he began to mutter sleepily:

“I don’t care what people say, I shan’t get up and crow to-day; I’ve never laid in bed—so then! I shall not crow till half-past ten—to-night!”

“Oh, Feather Flop!” cried Mary Frances. “Oh, Feather Flop! How you disappoint me! Why, I’ve gotten up early because you promised to help in my garden! Come, get up!” going toward the bed.

“Excuse me!” exclaimed Feather Flop, hopping out of bed. “Excuse my bad manners, dear Miss,” and away he ran out the door and into the garden before Mary Frances could catch up.

“My, but you can dress quickly, Feather Flop,” she called.

“Oh, nothing like having your clothes grow on you,” answered Feather Flop, lifting his wings, “especially if they are pretty.”

Mary Frances laughed. “Come, come, no conceited remarks, please,” she chided; “and now to work.”

“It takes longer than you’d think,” said Feather Flop, beginning to scratch, “especially with an empty stomach.”

“How dreadful of me not to think of your breakfast, Feather Flop,” she said, and ran to get some corn.

“Thanks, thanks,” said Feather Flop, hungrily eating. “If they only didn’t keep the food locked up, I could help myself, and not have to trouble anybody.”

“Well, this is not gardening,” he went on; “and besides, I want my dessert. I had splendid luck yesterday—four hundred and fifty-one grubs I ate, and several score of nice long worms. Besides, I let Robin Redbreast have a hundred or so.”

“Oh, my,” shuddered Mary Frances.

“What’s the matter?” asked Feather Flop, looking up. “You didn’t want any, did you? I’d have been delighted to have saved some for you.”

“Oh, my, no!” cried Mary Frances. “Oh, no, thank you! No!”

“You’re sure?” inquired Feather Flop. “Well, you must certainly be glad they are not left here in the garden to eat up your plants, I know.”

“Indeed! I’m much obliged, Feather Flop,” said Mary Frances. “While you dig, I’m going into the house to get some seeds, and to plan out my garden.”

“All right!” said Feather Flop. “Don’t mention me, please, to——you know.”

CHAPTER III. Billy Plans the Garden

BILLY PLANS THE GARDEN

“MARY FRANCES,” called Billy, as she came into the house, “I say, let’s start work in your garden to-day. The first thing to do is to dig and spade it.”

“Oh, Billy, it looks as though it had been done,” answered Mary Frances. “I guess I can plant it right away.”

“Ha! Ha!” laughed Billy. “Why, it has to be dug deep; the earth has to be turned under, and compost mixed with it and all pulverized before little seeds or plants can take hold with their roots.”

“How deep?” asked Mary Frances.

“Oh, about a foot, I guess,” said Billy; “but don’t let’s talk too loud if you want to keep this garden a secret. Let’s go out and have a look at it.”

“You needn’t mind—” began Mary Frances, but Billy was well on the way.

“That old Rhode Island Red! See what he’s done!” exclaimed Billy, throwing a stone at the rooster.

“Oh, Billy,” begged Mary Frances. “Poor old Feather Flop! Don’t scare him! Maybe he thought he was helping!”

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