I have it with
me now. I move it from room to room, as I hate to turn my
back upon it. Anybody who wants it, I repeat, can have it.
I should like also to give away, either to the Red Cross
or to anything else, ten packets of radish seed (the
early curled variety, I think), fifteen packets of cucumber
seed (the long succulent variety, I believe it says),
and twenty packets of onion seed (the Yellow Danvers,
distinguished, I understand, for its edible flavour and
its nutritious properties). It is not likely that I shall
ever, on this side of the grave, plant onion seed again.
All these things I have with me. My vegetables are to
come after me by freight. They are booked from Simcoe
County to Montreal; at present they are, I believe,
passing through Schenectady. But they will arrive later
all right. They were seen going through Detroit last
week, moving west. It is the first time that I ever sent
anything by freight anywhere. I never understood before
the wonderful organization of the railroads. But they
tell me that there is a bad congestion of freight down
South this month. If my vegetables get tangled up in that
there is no telling when they will arrive.
In other words, I am one of the legion of men--quiet,
determined, resolute men--who went out last spring to
plant the land, and who are now back.
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