“Peanuts,” Bles specified.
“Oh!” murmured Miss Taylor. “I see there are none on the vines yet. I suppose, though, it’s too early for them.”
Then came the explosion. The smaller boy just snorted with irrepressible laughter and bolted across the fields. And Bles‚ÅÝ‚Äîwas Miss Taylor deceived?‚ÅÝ‚Äîor was he chuckling? She reddened, drew herself up, and then, dropping her primness, rippled with laughter.
“What is the matter, Bles?” she asked.
He looked at her with twinkling eyes.
“Well, you see, Miss Taylor, it’s like this: farming don’t seem to be your specialty.”
The word was often on Miss Taylor’s lips, and she recognized it. Despite herself she smiled again.
‚ÄúOf course, it isn‚Äôt‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI don‚Äôt know anything about farming. But what did I say so funny?‚Äù
Bles was now laughing outright.
‚ÄúWhy, Miss Taylor! I declare! Goobers don‚Äôt grow on the tops of vines, but underground on the roots‚ÅÝ‚Äîlike yams.‚Äù
“Is that so?”
‚ÄúYes, and we‚ÅÝ‚Äîwe don‚Äôt pick cotton stalks except for kindling.‚Äù
“I must have been thinking of hemp. But tell me more about cotton.”