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Updated: June 9, 2025
The season had been very favorable, indeed; Hiram's vegetables had come along in good time, and even the barrels of sweet corn he shipped to Crawberry brought a fair price much better than he could have got at the local cannery. When the tomato pack came on, however, he did sell many baskets of his "seconds" to the cannery.
"It will be hard enough for her to put out money all season long before there are any returns. We'll go, slow," repeated Hiram. But when he left the farm that afternoon he went swiftly enough to Scoville and took the train for the not far distant city of Crawberry. This was Tuesday evening and he arrived just about supper time at Mrs. Atterson's.
But the selected tomatoes he continued to ship to Crawberry, and having established a reputation with his produce man for handsome and evenly ripened fruit, the prices received were good all through the season. He saw the sum for tomatoes pass the hundred and fifty dollar mark before frost struck the vines. Even then he was not satisfied.
"Still, we can't complain," said the old lady, "and for the first time for more'n twenty years I'm going to be really thankful at Thanksgiving time." "Oh, I believe you!" cried Sister, who heard her. "No boarders." "Nope," said the old lady, quietly. "You're wrong. For we're going to have boarders on Thanksgiving Day. I've writ to Crawberry.
It was mid-afternoon of an early February Sunday the time of the mid-winter thaw, that false prophet of the real springtime. Although not a furrow had been turned as yet in the fields, and the snow lay deep in some fence corners and beneath the hedges, there was, after all, a smell of fresh earth a clean, live smell that Hiram Strong had missed all week down in Crawberry.
Atterson made even Fred Crackit understand, these good things had not been possible! But the Crawberry folk, as a whole, were much subdued. They had missed Mother Atterson dreadfully; and, really, they had felt some affection for their old landlady, after all.
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