When Mrs. Turtle calls out that there is a strange bump under the lettuce bed, it's not long before all the little turtles are running around shouting that there are bombs under their beds. The youngsters spend a spring day trying to decide what to do about the matter, but they are repeatedly interrupted and distracted by instances of the season's new life: baby snails, ducklings, chickadees, mayflies, marsh marigolds. Then POW! goes the bomb in the lettuce bed, and out come ""ten little new little dear little turtle children. . . fresh out of their eggs, and new as the spring, and all peeping sweetly in soft turtle voices."" ""All the old little turtle children"" are pleased as punch with their new siblings; readers with less tolerance for the chirpy will regret that the bomb turned out to be such a dud.