BOBBY'S CABBAGES.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIV, Issue 285, 2 December 1933, Page 3 (Supplement)

BOBBY'S CABBAGES.

(By Phyllis Hughes, Sunny Brae, Feildins.)

"I'm going to grow some cabbages," announced Bobby, at breakfast, one morning. None of us was very surprised. Bobby was always thinking up some hare-brained sclieme for making money fast.

"Poof," I scoffed. "You wouldn't know a cabbage from a rose." Bobby took no notice of my remark, but calmly finished his breakfast, and then hastened outside. As for me, I promptly forgot him. I was very surprised, therefore, when, a few hours later, I walked outside, and saw Bobby laboriously digging at a small plot of ground. Ho had nearly finished, and the perspiration was dripping from his heated brow.

"What's that for?" I inquired very politely, indicating the plot. Ho treated me to a dliilly stare and answered rudely, "I'm going to plant some feathers and try to grow a hen."

"Yes," I answered. "That's what you would do."

A few days later Bobby arrived home with a bundle of cabbages, with which he departed to his garden. I followed, with the intention of giving him a little sisterly advice. Whori I reached the plot I noticed tliat the ground had been neither hoed nor raked. In fact It was a mass of huge clods. "Aren't you going to break those clods up?" I asked, in quite a friendly manner. "Wot for?" demanded Bobby. "Well," I said, "most gardeners rake their ground before they plant anything." ' " 'Taint necessary," growled Bobby, shortly. "As you will," I returned, with the air of. one resigned to the inevitable. Bobby returned to his cabbages. One by one he planted them. The rows were rather crooked, and the cabbages looked a bit sick, so I said, "Aren't you going to water them?" Bobby looked angry. "I can't do everything at once, can I?" he demanded.

i "Oh no," I answered soothingly. "Of course not." I seated myself on an upturned bucket and watched Bobby saunter away with a tin an cach arm. He returned in quite a short time and commenced to water the unfortunate cabbages. He poured it over them in a deluge and washed several out of the ground. "Hadn't you better give them a little at a time," I suggested mildly. Bobby didn't answer. He merely replanted the washed out cabbages and spitefully tipped some more water over them.

"Qh well, you ought to know," I responded huffily, in answer to his action, and with the words I stalked Uidoors. Well, from the very beginning everything seemed against those cabbages. The birds liked them better than any of the neighbours', and the slugs grew big and fat on them. Nevertheless, they managed to thrive? Bobby continued to water them every night, and hoed between the rows every Saturday until they were soon quite big. Bobby had already begun singing their praises. They might have been the finest cabbages in all the world—and so they were— to him.

4,Then one dreadful night the calves got in and I was awakened from a dreamless sleep by a noise outside my window. I jumped out of bed and peered through the darkness. And there, right in the midst of the garden, a large black calf was cheerfully swallowing the last of Bobby's cabbages. Poor Bobby! I wondered how I could break the awful news. I decided not to tell him till next morning. So 1 climbed back into bed and tried to sleep, but I could only lie awake pitying poor old Bobby and picturing his grief when ho learned the fate of liis beloved plants. It would be a dreadful blow, of course. At long last 1 fell asleep only to dream of cabbages and calves. When I awoke it was broad daylight and I quickly dressed and hurried down to breakfast. There sat Bobby looking extremely cheerful. My heart failed me and I decided to postpone the fateful moment till after we had broken our fa.st. Breakfast was soon over and I sought Bobby out. At last I found him sprawling in the old hammock. I approached him with a pitying smile, and then, I could not restrain a gasp, for Bobby turned-and called to me, "If you'd like my cabbages, Sis, you can have them; I think I'll go in for pigeons."