Page:Weeds (1923).pdf/218

 to their God, like millions of little sunworshipers and covered the earth with green.

Weeds grew too, tender and succulent from abundant moisture and rapid growth. They were easy to get rid of if they were attacked in time. One stroke of the hoe killed hundreds of them. Lying on the moist, steaming earth in the fierce heat of the sun, they shriveled and dried up in a few hours. But if they were allowed to live, they grew with incredible rapidity into great, tough giants and overtopped the vegetables in no time.

Judith spent all the time that she could spare from the babies and the house working in her garden, chopping out the weeds while they were still young and tender, hilling up the potatoes, hoeing the rows of lusty beets and beans and turnips, training the pole beans to climb on their poles and tying up the tomato vines to stakes. She liked this work. She liked the feel of the hot sun on her back and shoulders, the smell of the damp, warm earth. Some magic healing qualities in sun and earth seemed to give her back health, vigor, and poise. When she had hoed in the garden for an hour or two, she felt tired from her exertions, for her strength had only partly returned after the birth of the baby. Yet, in spite of the ache in her muscles, she was refreshed and in a way invigorated, more able to cope with the washtub and the churn, with the baby when he cried and refused to be pacified and with little Billy when he danced up and down and choked and grew purple in the face with rage.

It was a hard spring and summer for Jerry. He had put in five acres of tobacco; and this year there was no help to be had from Judith. Even if she could have left the children, she was much too weak for field work. So Jerry had to tackle it alone. Five acres of tobacco and ten acres of corn—a good full summer's work for three men, four if they worked union hours. But Jerry did not work union hours. He was determined that this year he was going to provide for his wife and family. The alarm clock was set every morning except Sunday for half past three. By half past four, he and the horses were jingling out of the barnyard. At eleven he came home