Few beans might, ef we wortered 'em.

My lan!" with a sudden interest, as she grasped the thought, "whut could I git fer right fraish beans, real string beans, I does wondeh! Sakes, ef I c'd hev string beans an' apple pies, I shoh'ly c'd make er foh'tune, right quick.

Why, they tellin' me, some folks over ontoe that ther Smoky River, las' fall, they gethered 'bout hate er peck o' sour green crabapples, an' they trade hate o' them ornery things off fer a beef critter--'deed they did.

String beans--why, law, chile!" "We'll have to think about this garden question some day," said Mary Ellen.

She leaned against the corral post, looking out over the wide expanse of the prairie round about.