Don't say you “hate” arithmetic,

And find it dull and dry.

You'll find it most astonishing

If you sincerely try.

Farmer brown's boy used to feel that way, but he doesn't any more. He never could see any use in puzzling over sums in school. He said that there wasn't anything interesting in it; nothing but hard work. He used to complain about it at home. Farmer Brown would listen awhile, then he would say, “If you live long enough, my son, you will find that figures talk and that they tell the most wonderful things.” There was always a twinkle in his eyes when he said this.

Now of course Fanner Brown's boy knew that his father didn't mean that figures could speak right out. Of course not. But he never could understand just what he did mean, and he wasn't interested enough to try to find out. So he would continue to scowl over his arithmetic and wish the teacher wouldn't give such hard lessons. And when the long summer vacation began, he just forgot all about figures and sums until after he discovered Bob White and his family helping to rid the garden of bugs and worms and seeds of weeds.

After he discovered them, he went down to the garden every day to watch them. They soon found out that he wouldn't hurt them, and after that they just paid no attention to him at all, but went right on with their business all about him, and that business was the filling of their stomachs with seeds and worms and bugs. One day Bob White ate twelve caterpillars while Farmer Brown's boy was watching him. He got out a stubby pencil and a scrap of paper.

“If every one of those Bob Whites eats twelve of those horrid worms at one meal that would be—let me see.” He wrinkled his brows. “There are Bob and Mrs. Bob and fifteen young Bobs and that makes seventeen. Now if each eats twelve, that will make twelve times seventeen.” He put down the figures on his bit of paper and worked over them for a few minutes. “That makes 204 caterpillars for one meal,” he muttered, “and in one month of thirty days they would eat 6120 if they only ate one meal a day. But they eat ever so many meals a day and that means—” He stopped to stare at the figures on the bit of paper with eyes round with wonder. Then he whistled a little low whistle of sheer astonishment. “No wonder I've got a good garden when those fellows are at work in it!” he exclaimed.

Original

Then he sat down to watch Mrs. Bob catching cabbage-butterflies which he knew were laying the eggs which would hatch out into the worms that spoiled the cabbages. He counted the number she caught while she was in sight. He did the same thing with another of the Bob Whites who was catching cucumber-beetles, and with another who was hunting grasshoppers. Then he did some more figuring on that bit of paper. When he had finished he got up and went straight down to the cornfield where Farmer Brown was at work.

“I know now what you meant when you used to tell me that figures talk,” said he. “Why, they've told me more than I ever dreamed! They've told me that the Bob Whites are the best friends we've got, and that the reason that we've got the best garden anywhere around is just because they have made it so. Why, those little brown birds are actually making money for us, and we never guessed it!”