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Updated: June 23, 2025
"The play oh, Betty, it is " And his old look of rapture shot across his face. Then Sam yelled to him, and me, too. "Come on and help tie up onions," he called. "You Byrd!" We went and we tied up a whole white smelly mountain of them; but I didn't care, for Sam showed me his day-book, and in just one week his balance had shot up like the beautiful pink pie-plant in my garden.
And I'd have given you the best class of readers that ever an agricultural paper had not a farmer in it, nor a solitary individual who could tell a watermelon-tree from a peach-vine to save his life. You are the loser by this rupture, not me, Pie-plant. Adios." I then left.
“I don’t know where they are,” suddenly answered a voice, “but if you like, Bawly, I will play house with you. I have my doll, and we can have lots of fun.” Bawly looked around, to make sure it wasn’t a wolf or a bad owl trying to fool him, and there he saw Arabella Chick, the little chicken girl, standing by a big pie-plant.
The sagacious old soul who visits me yearly for young pie-plant actually hurried out and begged for a basketful of the roots at once, thus taking time and the rhubarb by the forelock.
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