Away through the woods stretched the big bed, the growth waving lightly in the wind, the peculiar odour filling the air.
"I am going to wait to gather the crop until the seeds are ripe," said the Harvester, "then bury some as I dig a root.

My father said that was the way of the Indians.

It's a mighty good plan.

The seeds are delicate, and difficult to gather and preserve properly.

Instead of collecting and selling all of them to start rivals in the business, I shall replant my beds.