"'An' they come up all right on this 'ere floatin' perairie?' "'Come up! Wait till you see our farm.' "So we walked on an' on, an' putty soon we see some stuff like grass a-growin', only it were about six feet high, an' each blade as thick as a six-inch hawser. "'Wot are that?' sez I. "'That are wheat,' sez the Cap'n o' the farm. "'Fender Saint Grease!' sez Cap'n Peleg Mahoney, jess like that, the same bein' French fur 'I sart'nly are supprised.' "'How'd ye like to pluck some o' 't an' see the grain?' axes the other Cap'n. "'Goot!' sez Willum Smitzer, sez he. "So the other Cap'n he pulls off a stalk an' han's it to Cap'n Peleg Mahoney, w'ich the same he husks out a grain, an' we all stood a-starin' at it as ef we see a ghost." "Why?" demanded George. "W'y, cos it weren't nothin' more or less nor a hard clam." "A hard clam in wheat!" exclaimed both boys. "That are wot," replied the Old Sailor, solemnly. "Every grain o' that 'ere wheat were a hard clam. The other Cap'n sez he to Cap'n Peleg Mahoney, sez he, 'That are the way wheat comes up out here. We grinds them grains up into flour an' makes reg'lar ginuwine sea-biscuit out o' them. They tastes o' the sea fur sure. Come over this way an' I'll show you our rye.' He tuk us along to a field o' rye, an w'en we opened one o' them stalks wot d'ye s'pose were in 'em?" "Oysters?" inquired George. "Not so werry good," answered the Old Sailor; "sardines--bloomin' little oily sardines. It were the ryest rye I ever see. Then the other Cap'n he tuk us over to his orchard. He sez, sez he, 'I set out here some young peach-tree slips wot I had aboard, an' the trees growed right up sixty feet high in two days. The third day they was in blossom, an' in two weeks they commenced fur to bear, an' they bin bearin' ever since. Have a peach?' An' with that he reached up an' picked--wot d'ye s'pose?" "What?" asked the boys, eagerly. [Illustration: THE TOMATTER VINES RIZ YOUNG LOBSTERS.] "A bluefish--a big fat six-pound bluefish. 'Name of grace!' sez Cap'n Peleg Mahoney, sez he; an' Willum Smitzer he sez, sez he, 'Donner und blitzen,' w'ich the same it are Dutch fur, 'Squalls to leeward.' Waal, them sailor-farmers they tuk us all over the farm an' showed us the mos' picooliar crops wot any one ever seed in this 'ere world, an' ye can see a good many queer things 'ere ef ye jess keep your weather eye a-liftin'. They had strawberry bushes wot gave boiled red snapper, an' potato beds w'ere they dug up mussels. The tomatter vines riz young lobsters, an' the cucumbers was eels. The cherry-trees gave shrimps, an' scollops growed onto gooseberry bushes. Then the other Cap'n axed us fur to go an' eat dinner with 'em aboard their ship farm-house. O' course we accepted. But afore we got half-way through the dinner we was all sick; cos w'y, everythin' tasted so all-fired fishy. Then the farmer Cap'n he got mad, an' sez he to we, sez he, "'Ef ye don't like our grub ye can go back to yer own ship.'