XVI
RUTH AND JERRY
"I'm goin' to start planting the corn this morning, Bob," said his uncle at breakfast on Monday morning. "I ought to get the ten-acre field finished by Wednesday evening. As soon as that is planted, I guess I had better take the tractor and haul out some more cement. John White and I made arrangements on Saturday, when he was here, to go ahead with the rest of the buildings. There'll be a considerable amount of cement required for these, and I don't want to stop planting corn to bring it out, and after that you know we'll be pretty busy. I wish you would figure up how many barrels of cement it will take approximately for each of the buildings, Bob; also the rolls of galvanized wire and steel bars for reinforcing so that I can get these ordered at the same time. You'll want some window frames and ventilators, gratings and other things for the cow barn, too. I think you'd better make some sketches and a list of just what you want. Then we can get bids, and see where we can buy the cheapest. You'd better get some catalogs, too, Bob, on cow stable fittings, such as stanchions, sanitary water bowls and manure carriers. Of course, we'll want to build the silo, too, at the same time, and you better make a list of the materials required for that. You and your Aunt Bettie can talk over the details and arrange the matter between you."
[Illustration: GOOD SEED WELL PLANTED LAYS THE FOUNDATION FOR A
PROFITABLE CROP]
"All right, Uncle Joe; we'll take care of it," said Bob, "and have the list ready for you in a few days. Of course, we don't want to knock off during working hours to make up this list, unless we have to, but when it comes to putting on the roof of the hen house, Tony can carry on the work by himself, if necessary, while I complete the drawings of the cow barn and silo and figure out the quantities."
"Don't forget that I'm here," said Ruth, "and I'm going to help build the rest of the buildings, even though I did hurt my thumb the first time I tried. I've been practicing out in the woodshed and I can hit a nail on the head nearly every time now."
At the mention of her nail-driving ability, Bob could not refrain from smiling.
It was probably nine-thirty that morning when Bob, busy at work on the hen house, looked up and saw Ruth dressed in her farmerette clothes, talking with their uncle at the far side of the field where he was planting oats. It was fully an hour later when he looked up again and saw Edith standing near him. At first glance she seemed abashed, but he noticed that the corners of her mouth were tucked up in a roguish laugh.
"Anything happened, Edith?" he asked.
"Not yet, Bob, but," she replied laughing, "there'll be something happen to Ruth in a few minutes, if you don't come and rescue her."
"Why, where is she?"
"Come, and I'll show you," said Edith, and Bob turned the concrete mixer over to Tony and they went over to the old orchard, back of the smokehouse.
In almost the exact center of this three-acre plot, a tree had decayed and fallen several years before, and a young apple tree had been planted to take its place. This tree was now about five inches in diameter, and forked about five to six feet from the ground. In the crotch of this small tree, a foot dangling on either side, sat Ruth, balancing herself as best she could while Jerry, the new Southdown buck, was prancing back and forth, jumping alternately at one foot, then at the other, as she let them hang down within his reach.
"How did she get up there?" asked Bob, as he took in the situation.
"I don't know," said Edith, "but she must have been up there a long time, because I've been hearing her shouting for at least a half hour, but I thought she was with you and Tony working on the hen house."
"Oh, Bob, come over here and drive Jerry away," cried Ruth, hearing them. "I've been sitting in this apple tree holding up my feet until they're ready to drop off."
"How did you happen to get up there, Ruth?" called Edith laughing, while she and Bob stood outside the fence enjoying the situation and watching Jerry jump time and again for a dangling foot.
"I went up to see Uncle Joe—say, aren't you going to help me, Bob?— and was taking a short cut through the orchard and forgot all about Jerry—confound that sheep," drawing a foot up just in time—"when I saw him I started to run, and he ran after me. This was the only tree small enough for me to climb, so I got up here and Jerry has been keeping guard ever since. Whenever I let a foot dangle down he strikes at it. Come on, and drive him away, Bob. I'm so tired I can scarcely keep from falling."
"All right," laughed Bob, "I'll get him away," and vaulting the fence he ran over to where Jerry was standing, took him by the wool on the back of his neck and held him with one hand.
"Now, slide down, Ruth—he won't hurt you. All he wanted was someone to pet him."
"I tell you he's cross, Bob. He would have butted me if I hadn't got up into the tree."
"He was only trying to play with you, Ruth. Now, come down and I'll prove you're wrong."
But no sooner had Ruth placed her cramped feet on the ground than Jerry broke loose, and with head down, went charging after her, as, letting out a scream, she dashed for the house as fast; as she could go. The gate, opening into the yard by the smokehouse, was too far away, so she changed her course and headed for the fence between the orchard and hen house, near the spot where Edith was standing. She had placed her right foot on the second board of the fence just ready to jump, when Jerry arrived just in time to take advantage of the opportunity presented. With one strong butt he hoisted her clear of the fence, landing her on all fours on the soft, plowed ground on the other side. She jumped up quickly, spitting out a mouthful of the soft earth she had scooped up. Bob and Edith were doubled up with laughter.
"Oh, you two probably think it's very funny," snapped Ruth, "sitting up in an apple tree for a half hour, with Jerry trying to knock your feet off every time you let them hang down, to say nothing of his butting me over the fence. Well, laugh if you want to, but it's not so funny if you're IT."
"Perhaps you'd better come into the house, Ruth, and get rested," suggested Edith, "or maybe you'd like to help Aunt Bettie plant the garden."
"You help her yourself, if you want to; I'm going to help Bob and Tony build the hen house," she declared suddenly. "I was coming over to help you, Bob, when Jerry treed me in the orchard, and if it hadn't been for him, I would have been there an hour ago."
"All right," laughed Bob; "I'll be glad to have you help me now, Ruth," and he helped brush the dirt from her clothes. Edith caught a merry twinkle in his eye, as they left her to go back to the concrete mixer.
"What can I do to help, Bob?" asked Ruth, when they arrived at the work.
"I think I'll let you be the engineer, Ruth, and run the mixer. That's an important job," he added, winking at Tony. He instructed her how to start and stop the engine, and which levers to use in filling and emptying the drum. She was still busy with the mixer when the dinner bell rang.
"I'd like to get a turtle, Uncle Joe," said Ruth at dinner. "How can I catch one?"
"Get Bob to shoot a ground squirrel for you and bait a couple of hooks; then set some lines in the new pond. Perhaps you can catch one that way."
"Is that what you bait turtle hooks with?" asked Ruth.
"Ground squirrels make the best kind of bait," said her uncle. "If there are turtles in the pond, you'll get one of them with that."
"Let me shoot the squirrel myself, Uncle Joe," said Ruth.
"I won't have time to go hunting squirrels this afternoon, but perhaps you and Bob might be able to find one on the fence down back of the barn. You can take my shotgun, Ruth, but be careful that you don't shoot yourself instead of the squirrel."
"Oh, I know how to shoot, Uncle Joe; don't worry," she declared.
"Let's go as soon as we get our dinner, Bob," she said enthusiastically.
When they had finished, Bob got two turtle lines and hooks from the woodshed and the double-barrel gun and four shells. They went down along the fence back of the barn toward the pond. When they were almost at the foot of the hill, near a chestnut tree, they saw a ground squirrel sitting on the top of a fence post.
Bob handed the gun to Ruth and explained to her how to operate it, and much to his surprise and admiration, she quickly raised the gun to her shoulder and fired-the squirrel tumbling off the fence.
"How did you happen to do that?" he asked, lost in admiration, for it was a neat shot.
"Throw your hat up in the air and I'll show you," she said.
As he hesitated, she asked.
"You're not afraid I'll hit it, are you, Bob?"
"No, I'm not," said Bob, and with that he threw his straw hat high into the air and it came down with a nick in the brim and two holes in the crown.
"Where did you learn to shoot, Ruth?" he demanded, looking at his damaged hat.
"Oh, I learned that long ago," she replied, pleased that at last she had won his genuine admiration. "I've two medals for shooting. My brothers are both crack shots and they taught me. I usually shoot with a rifle, however."
"That's fine shooting," said Bob. "I couldn't do nearly as well as that myself," he admitted grudgingly.
"Now, show me how to bait the hook," she said, picking up the squirrel. Bob took it and showed her how to prepare and put it on the hook.
They then went along the pond until they came to some small thorn bushes that grew on the bank. Bob showed her how to cast the bait by whirling it round and round and then let it fly out into the water. She tried several times until she got the knack of doing it, then threw in both lines and tied them fast to the thorn bushes.
"How long'll I have to wait before I catch a turtle, Bob?" she asked, as they started for the house.
"Maybe an hour and maybe not till to-morrow morning, and maybe as long as a day or two—it just depends," he replied.
About three o'clock in the afternoon, he noticed that Ruth, who had gotten tired running the mixer, had gone to the house. A little later he saw her with Edith passing through the barnyard in the direction of the pond.
It was perhaps a half hour later when he heard shouts in the direction of the pond and someone calling his name. He dropped his tools and rushed across the plowed field, when he saw Edith hurrying toward him as fast as she could walk over the newly-plowed ground. She was waving her hand to him, motioning him to hurry.
"What's happened to Ruth now?" he asked breathlessly, catching up to her.
"It isn't Ruth this time," she replied. "It's Duncan Wallace."
"Why, what's the matter with him?" he asked eagerly, surprised that the staid old Scotchman should have gotten into trouble.
"Well, it was this way," said Edith, between breaths, as they started in the direction of the sand pit, "when Ruth and I went down to the pond the first line we pulled out had a turtle on it, and while I held it by the tail, Ruth took a forked stick and pried the hook out of its mouth; then she thought it'd be good sport to take it down and show it to Duncan Wallace, and when she got near she held it up by the tail and showed it to him.
"'What's that you have there Mister—Miss—?'
"'A turtle, Mr. Wallace,' said Ruth, laughing over the fact that he did not know whether she was a boy or a girl.
"'Oh, a turtle, is it? Well, let me see it.' Then he took the turtle from her, Bob, and laid it on the shovel he was using to screen sand. He held the shovel so that the turtle's head was not very far from and on a level with his face. Then, much to my disgust, he began spitting tobacco juice in the turtle's eyes, forcing it to draw its head into the shell. It didn't seem to like it very much, for all of a sudden it reached out its head and grabbed Duncan Wallace by the nose, and, oh, Bob, you should have seen him dance and heard him swear; he swore something terrible," she said laughing heartily. "It was the funniest thing, Bob, I ever saw in my life—neither Ruth's ride on the cow the other day nor her experience with Jerry this morning could compare with the way that old Scotchman hopped around, waving his shovel in one hand, the turtle dangling from his nose, and swearing like a pirate."
"Well, how did you get the turtle off?" asked Bob, laughing in spite of his fears for the Scotchman's safety.
"We didn't get it off," said Edith; "that's why we got you here. Ruth tried to shake it off, but his nose bled terribly. He was sitting on a pile of sand holding on to the turtle when I left," she replied.
When they reached the pit they found that the desperate Scotchman, in his struggling to free himself from the turtle, had pulled a large piece out of the end of his nose. Ruth, after first putting her turtle in a water barrel, was doing her best to stop the flow of blood and comfort the still swearing Scotchman, whose feelings were becoming more aggravated each minute by Ruth's uproarious laughter.
"If a girl comes around here again dressed up in boy's clothes, carrying a turtle, I'll throw them both into the pond and drown them," he declared savagely, as he got up from the sand pile and started for his home. When he had disappeared, Bob and the two girls sat down on the sand pile and laughed until they cried.
XVII
FILLING THE INCUBATOR
Shortly after the new stock had been delivered at Brookside Farm, Bob and his aunt put the new Leghorn chickens in the old sheep shed back of the barn, and the white Plymouth Rocks in a small pen near the cider mill, so as to keep the two flocks apart. They saved all the eggs from each flock and as fast as the common hens on the farm showed a disposition to set, the eggs were supplied to them, until the incubator house was finished.
The incubator was a modern machine of five hundred egg capacity. After a conference, they decided to send to two well-known poultry farms specializing in white Leghorns and white Plymouth Rocks for additional settings of eggs, in order to have new blood for the next year. They got fifty eggs of each breed from the two breeders, making two hundred eggs in all, and took three hundred eggs from their own stock. A careful record of the different eggs was made, so they could keep the chicks separate after they were hatched.
Before the eggs arrived, the incubator was cleaned and tested.
"Won't you let me help you with the eggs, Bob?" asked Edith, as he was getting ready to place the eggs in the incubator. "I've been reading a lot in the bulletins about chickens, and I would like to help you look after them."
"I don't think it would be such a hard job, Edith," he replied, "if you understand how to regulate the heat and keep the eggs turned. Of course, it will be necessary to look after them carefully."
"I already know how to regulate the temperature, and turn and cool the eggs."
"Do you know how to test them?" asked Bob, "to tell which eggs are fertile?"
"Yes," replied Edith, "that's easily done. You can use a candle and an old shoe box by removing one end and cutting a hole a little larger than the size of a quarter in the bottom of the box, located so that when it sets over the kerosene lamp, the hole in the bottom will be opposite the flame. Of course, you'll have to cut another hole in the box, so that the heat will escape, and the eggs are tested with the large ends up. This is done so the size of the air cell may be seen, as well as the condition of the embryo."
"How do you tell when an egg is fertile?" asked Bob.
"That's easy," said Edith. "The infertile eggs, when held before the small hole when the lamp is lighted inside the box, will look perfectly clear, same as a fresh one, while the fertile ones will show a small dark spot, which is known as the embryo. Of course, you have to learn to tell whether the embryo is living or dead, but that's easy to learn."
"I think I could take care of an incubator all right," she continued. "The first thing you do is to see if it is running steadily at the desired temperature before filling it with eggs; then you must fill the whole tray at one time and not add fresh eggs to a tray after it's once started. The eggs must be turned twice daily after the second and until the nineteenth day. The eggs must also be cooled once daily from the seventh to the nineteenth day, depending on the weather."
"Do you fix the lamps first, Edith, or turn the eggs?" asked Bob.
"Oh, you must turn the eggs before you fix the lamps," she replied, "and, of course, the machine must be cared for at regular hours, just the same as your dairy cows, and the lamp and the wick must be kept clean at all times—otherwise you would not get a uniform heat."
"When do you test the eggs?" asked Bob.
"On the seventh and fourteenth days; after the eighteenth day you must not open the machine until the chicks are hatched."
"If you'll look after the incubator for us, Edith, it'll save me a lot of time—particularly now when we want to start work on the new cow barn."
"Will you let me run it all myself, Bob?" she asked, her eyes sparkling in anticipation.
"I don't see why you can't do it all yourself. You understand it just as well as I do; besides, I've had no actual experience myself."
They carefully filled the incubator with the eggs, making a record in a special book of the different breeds and the different breeders.
"How are you going to mark them, Bob, to tell them apart?" asked
Edith.
"Oh, that's easy," said Bob. "You punch small holes between their toes and make a code of the marks, so you can tell which is which.
"You can make ever so many combinations."
"Doesn't that hurt them?" asked Edith.
"No, not if it's done when they are very young—though the hole is a very small one, it never closes up, and you can always tell, by referring to your code, the age and breed of each chick. Later, of course, when they grow up, we'll put numbered aluminum bands on their legs, but when they're small the holes are better.
"Just think, Bob, five hundred little chicks for me to look after.
Won't it be perfectly splendid?"
"You won't get five hundred, Edith. If we get sixty to seventy per cent, hatched, it will be as much as we can expect. Unless, of course, we have especially good luck and you might get as high as eighty or ninety per cent."
"What will we do with the eggs that are not fertile?" she asked.
"Oh, we'll boil those and feed them to the young chicks after they're hatched; they make good chicken feed."
"How many of the chicks do you suppose we can raise in the brooder?"
"If we hatch 300 to 400 out of the 500 eggs, we'll be doing fine, and if we can raise sixty per cent of the full hatch, it's considered very good. Of course, considerable will depend on the way they're fed and cared for, but with good care, you ought to average that many. We'll have to raise these in one of the new pens we've just built for the laying hens, because our brooder house will be one of the last buildings we'll put up, and we may not get it ready until late fall. When the chicks are large enough, you can put them in colony houses out in the orchard."
"I hope we can raise more than sixty per cent, Bob. Won't it be fine to have so many chicks? When we get these hatched, are we going to hatch more?"
"Yes," replied Bob, "Aunt Bettie thinks we should hatch at least 1000 to 1500 eggs in order to have a good pen of layers this fall. Of course, you know half the chicks will be roosters, and these we will dispose of. The white Plymouth Rocks we can caponize and easily sell, and the white Leghorns we will either have to kill and sell as broilers, or it may be we can sell them to the farmers around here to improve their flocks. So you see, if we have 1000 chicks, we can't count on over 500 hens."
"What would you do, Bob, if you had 1000 hens?" asked Edith.
[Illustration: A WELL MANAGED FLOCK OF POULTRY WILL RETURN GOOD
PROFITS AND CAN EASILY BE CARED FOR BY THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN]
"Don't you remember the hen house is made so it may be extended? Of course, by the end of the summer, when the chicks have grown up, Mr. Brady will have taken so much sand from the pit that Uncle Joe will be willing that we should go ahead and complete our buildings, and one person can care for 1000 hens almost as easy as 500. A 1000 hen flock is about the right size. Aunt Bettie and I didn't exactly deceive Uncle Joe, but we thought we'd educate him a little at a time."
"I heard him tell Aunt Bettie the other day he was going to let her have all the money that they made from the dairy and poultry," said Edith.
"Well, if he does," said Bob, "Aunt Bettie will make a lot of money— almost as much as Uncle Joe, outside of the sand pit."
"How would that be, Bob?"
"Because it is possible to make very big profits in these if they're properly looked after," said Bob; "but of course, the chickens will have to pay rent for the houses, based on their cost and use of the land they occupy—the same as cows do for their stable and pasture, and all the labor and feed Uncle Joe supplies will be charged up against them. I've been reading the story of a successful poultry and dairy farm in one of the bulletins. They kept twenty cows, the same as Aunt Bettie is planning to do, and it stated that in addition to the milk, cream and butter used by the family, they sold almost $2400 worth of butter, and they got almost as much more from their poultry. The bulletin didn't say, of course, how much it cost to produce it, but with our system of cost-keeping where we charge up labor, feed and rent and credit them for whatever they produce, we'll be able to tell almost to a cent just what they earn."
"Won't you let me keep the cost-accounting system for the chickens, Bob?" asked Edith. "I'm sure I'd like very much to look after them all myself. I think that farming, if done intelligently, is the most interesting business that one can engage in."
They were standing on opposite sides of the incubator, and Edith was handing Bob an egg as she made this remark. Bob's hand closed over the egg and fingers that encircled it. He held it for a moment, while he looked into her eyes; then, as she blushingly withdrew her hand, he stammered:
"I'm glad, Edith, you like farming the same as I do."
"Well, it is interesting, Bob, and I do like it," she said, looking at him shyly.
"What are you two doing in here with all those eggs?" asked Ruth, bursting suddenly in upon them. "One would think you were in church, you're so quiet."
"Why, we're going to raise chickens by machinery," explained Bob.
"Do you have a motor to run it?" she asked. "How do you make it go, Bob? It must be terribly hot in here," she added, looking at them questioningly.
"Why?" asked her cousin, without looking up from the tray of eggs she was filling. "Why, Bob's so red in the face. I never saw his face so red before, except the time he ran down to the pond to take the turtle off Duncan Wallace's nose."
"You must have the room warm where you keep the incubator," said Edith evasively.
"Let me put the eggs in, Edith," said Ruth, "I know how to do things like this," as she began mixing the Leghorns and Plymouth Rocks together.
"Oh, don't do that, Ruth; we must keep them all separate. We write the names and dates on them and make all kinds of records, so we'll know the chicks when they're hatched."
"How can you tell from an old egg what kind of a chick you'll get. How do you know you won't get black chickens out of white eggs."
"Maybe we will," laughed Bob. "Anything is liable to happen on a farm where you get girls off apple trees and turtles off Scotchmen's noses."
"Pretty near ready for dinner?" called her aunt, looking in for a moment as they completed the work of filling the incubator.
"We've just finished," said Edith. "Bob said I might take care of the incubator and keep the record of the chicks, if you were willing, Aunt Bettie."
"Yes, Edith, I'd be only too glad to have you do it," replied her aunt.
"Thank you, Aunt Bettie. I like farming better every day," and she gave Bob a shy glance, as he closed the door of the new incubator house.
XVIII
THE NEW IMPLEMENTS
When Joe Williams purchased Brookside Farm from his father, the equipment of farm implements which his father turned over to him was meager; indeed, the few that answered the name of implements were so old and had been so badly neglected, by being exposed to all kinds of weather, they were practically useless.
After a conference with John White, the banker, Joe Williams sent for Mr. Patterson, the representative of the Farmers' Harvester Company. The three spent a half day together going carefully over their full line of farm implements, selecting from the list such new machines as they felt were best suited to their requirements.
A tractor, disk and harrow had already been delivered to the farm, and left there after the spring plowing, but no arrangements for the purchase of them had yet been made. After having seen the advantage of these implements, and heard them favorably commented upon by his neighbors, Joe Williams decided they must remain at Brookside.
He now selected a new riding corn planter, one not only capable of planting corn in rows, but also in hills, and as a companion to this machine, he selected a horse-drawn cultivator. After considerable discussion, he decided to purchase a side delivery hay rake and a windrow loader, chiefly on account of the speed with which hay could be gotten in with this combination. He could then leave his hay out until it was just right and get it in quickly ahead of storms. With these two machines, he also bought the latest improved mowing machine. Then he picked out a substantial reaper and binder. The erection of the new silo made it necessary to select machinery for filling it, and a corn binder, with a bundle elevator, was finally selected on account of the saving in labor. A blower type ensilage cutter with the necessary pipe for filling the silo and leather belt for driving it by the tractor, were selected. Then a new grain drill with fertilizer and grass-seed attachments was added.
"I guess that's about as many implements as I can afford to buy at one time," remarked Joe Williams.
"Now, look here, Joe," said John White; "why do a thing half? You know you'll be short a number of things if you stop here; besides, you've left out a lot of low-cost tools that you ought to have to make a complete equipment."
"Why, what more do I need?" asked Joe, surprised at the banker's statement.
"Well, for one thing, you ought to have a first-class manure spreader; it will do the work much quicker, and save you many backaches—now that you've decided to fertilize heavily. Then you should have a good power-driven corn sheller and a small mill for grinding corn meal and buckwheat flour. You also ought to have a one and a half horsepower kerosene engine, mounted on a portable hand truck."
"What would that be for?" asked Joe Williams, looking up.
"Well, you'll have a lot of places to use it—such as running the washing machine, turning the grindstone, corn sheller, or the cream separator, if the electric system breaks down, and other small jobs around the farm, where a portable engine will be very handy to save work and increase speed."
"We'll have the engines on the tractor that we can use," protested
Williams.
"That's all right, Joe," said the banker, "but it's too heavy for many of the light jobs, and it would not pay to consume the amount of kerosene and oil necessary to operate it, so I think you had better include the engine."
"All right," said Joe. "Let's have it then along with the others."
"What about your electric lighting plant, Joe, with the new buildings coming along? You ought to look out for that."
"Bettie and Bob have been looking up a lot of data on that subject and they've decided on putting in a water-driving unit. It requires more wire to bring the power up from the dam, but in the end will be cheaper as it costs nothing to operate."
"How many electric lights do you want to use?" asked Mr. Patterson.
"We've figured that we ought to have about one hundred sixty-watt lamp capacity for the complete farm; that would take care of the small motor of the vacuum cleaner and sewing machine."
"We don't make the outfit, Mr. Williams," said the agent, "but I'll arrange to get a good one for you and will not charge you any commission on it—taking such a large order as you are giving me, I'll be very glad to arrange this for you."
"Well, here's a catalog of the make they have picked out and if you'll take it up with the manufacturers, I'll appreciate it," said Williams. "We'll want a detail drawing showing how to make a foundation for the wheel and generator. Bob's worked out an automatic starting and stopping device. The wiring, of course, we'll do ourselves."
"How about an auto truck, Joe; don't you think you ought to have a good auto truck on the farm?"
"Not with a team of horses and a good live tractor. Of course, an auto truck would be an advantage in some respects, and I'll probably want one next year, but I think we can get along without that for the present. Speaking of making a complete outfit, Mr. White, Bettie gave me a list of some other things she wanted."
"What are they?" asked the banker.
"Well, for one thing, she thinks we ought to tear down the old cider mill because it's too slow to operate. In former years, when labor was cheap, it answered very well, but the modern machines are much quicker and better."
"I think you ought to have that, Joe," said the banker. "Have you thought of a power saw for the wood lot and cutting up the rails of your old fences? That's a 'Hidden Treasure' that you and Bob have probably overlooked."
"There's where you're wrong, John," laughed Williams. "I've overlooked it entirely, I'll confess, but not Bob. He's figured out already how many cords of wood we'll get out of those old rails."
"I tell you, Patterson," said the banker smiling, "there's a boy who's going to make things pay. I've plans for him myself that I'm not saying anything about. I don't want to take him away from you, Joe, but he's growing up and some day he's going to have a farm of his own. If you get two years' work out of him at the rate he's going, I don't think you'll have any complaint to make though. By the way, how about a power washing-machine and mangle for the laundry? Don't you think your wife will need those?"
"She was speaking about them the other day," admitted Joe. "I guess I'd better include them. Then, of course, we'll need some first-class scales. Bob has been after me ever since he's been here to get a new platform scale and a good steelyard, for weighing bulky stuff, and we ought to have a new scale for the dairy also."
"Those ought to be bought, Joe; you can't get far on a farm without good scales," remarked the banker. "Now, let's see what all this is going to cost. What do you make it, Joe?"
"Well, I figure the items that Patterson's company is going to furnish will come to $3000, and the other items that we have decided to get will make a total of $5000."
"This ought to give you a splendid outfit, Joe, and make it possible for you to do the work of two or three men, and with less fatigue to yourself."
"Get these tools here, Patterson, as soon as you can," said Williams. "We want the corn planter and cultivator first and the others just as soon as possible."
"I've a planter and cultivator in the Pittsburgh warehouse now, and can have them here in three or four days."
"That'll be fine," said Williams, as he signed the order for the implements.
"What discount will there be for cash on an order of this size, Patterson?" he asked suddenly. "We'll allow you seven per cent for cash on delivery, which is a little better than we ordinarily give, but we'll throw off a little in your case for advertising, Joe. We'll probably be troubling you some this summer sending your neighbors around to see the tools working."
"That'll be all right," said Joe smiling. "Let as many come as want to. I think lots of them are getting jealous already, for I keep mentioning to them whenever I see them how Brookside is prospering."
"Well, thanks for the order, Joe," said Patterson, as he shook him by the hand. "I don't mind saying this is the most complete order I've ever taken for a single farm in your section of the country. Our company ought to be proud to know they're going to have a farm so fully equipped with their implements."
"There's another thing I've had on my mind all day, Joe," remarked the banker, "and that is what you're going to do when you get all these new tools and your neighbors come over and want to borrow them. You can't be unneighborly and yet you can't supply the county with tools."
"That's where I'm one ahead of you, John," laughed Williams. "We figured that all out last night. We decided that five years would be the average book life of all our new tools and implements, which would mean a depreciation of twenty per cent each year. Now, all we have to do is to divide twenty per cent, of the cost by the number of acres on which we use the implement, and we have the depreciation per acre. We can work that all out and make a schedule of rates. What we propose to do is to loan any tool we have, when we don't need it ourselves, at the established rate plus breakage and repairs."
"Ha! Ha! Joe, that's a fine idea," laughed the banker, "but I'll bet you the price of the power-driven ice-cream freezer you forgot to order, it was not your own idea."
"No, it wasn't," confessed Williams.
"Well, who's was it then?" eagerly asked the banker.
"Bob's," said Joe Williams.
"It sounds like King Solomon, Joe," said the banker, "for it's certainly the best solution of that troublesome problem I ever heard. No one can rightfully refuse to pay for the actual use of a tool, even though he can't afford to own one, and five years ought to be a fair book value average. So Bob thought that out," he chuckled. "Joe, I'm getting prouder of that red-head, freckled face nephew of yours every time I see him, and you don't want to forget when you come to settle with him that his ideas are worth something to you as well as his labor. Let's go out and see what he's doing on the new cow barn," continued the banker, and they walked over to the new building.
"Hello, Bob! How are things moving this morning?"
"Pretty good, Mr. White. This cow barn's going to be some building compared with the hen house. Tony and I staked it out and started the foundations. Where are those boys you were going to send me?"
"That's why I came out to see you to-day," replied the banker.
"There'll be six here to-morrow. I couldn't get them two at a time, so
I thought you had better take them when you could get them. Each boy
is to stay a week, Bob."
"I don't think Aunt Bettie can take care of six boys at once, if they all stay overnight."
"Only two will stay at night, Bob. I told them the working hours would be from seven to six; that will give them time to get home. You had better arrange your work so you can take full advantage of their help."
"We've plenty of work, Mr. White. I could use a dozen boys right now," replied Bob. "We ought to have the timbers for the roof brought out, Uncle Joe. Couldn't you take the big tractor and the wagon and bring out a load this afternoon, while you are waiting for the corn planter to come?"
"It wouldn't pay to run the tractor for just one wagon, Bob," said his uncle, "when it can haul two wagons at once."
"There's something we forgot," said the banker; "you should have a good substantial truck around this place, one that will haul a real load, and I know where you can get a good one at about half price. Henry Smith, the man from whom you bought the auto, Joe, took it in trade for a motor truck recently. Call him up on the 'phone and tell him you want it—tell him you would like to have him put in a short tongue for a motor hitch. The truck has been used for hauling lumber and is just right for your work." As they were speaking, they saw Edith rushing across the barnyard waving her hat and shouting. She was more excited than Bob had ever seen her and had evidently been running for quite a distance, for she was so out of breath she could scarcely make herself understood. As she neared them, she exclaimed:
"The bees, Bob—they're swarming!"
"There, Bob, now you've a real job on your hands," laughed the banker. "If I weren't so afraid of them myself, I'd like to see you put them into the hive."
"Well, I've never done it before, Mr. White," he replied, "but I think
I can manage it."
"Perhaps you better take Tony along to help you," suggested his uncle.
"No, I'll take care of them myself, Uncle Joe," he replied, and started for the house to get his veil and smoker.
When he arrived at the apiary, much to his surprise, not one but three of the colonies had swarmed. One had left the hive and alighted on an apple tree nearby, the second was just getting ready to leave, and the third was hanging outside in a way that showed they would soon be on the wing.
Bob was so intent on his work that he was not aware that anyone was near him, until he heard a voice say:
"Won't you let me help you, Bob; I'm not afraid of being stung."
He looked up quickly, and there was Edith—her head concealed in a quickly constructed veil. She was wearing a white cotton blouse and she also had on a pair of kid gloves with the fingers cut off.
"Aren't you afraid you'll get stung, Edith," said Bob.
"I'm like yourself, Bob; I've never handled bees before, but I think they're the most interesting thing we have on the farm. I've been reading many books about them recently. Won't you let me help you?"
"Yes, if you're not afraid, I'd be glad to have you," he replied, "for there's going to be two more swarms soon."
They brushed off the swarm into a small box and carried it over to a new hive. As soon as the queen had entered, they left it there and went back to watch the second one.
They were just in time, for the swarm that filled the air was starting to settle and they, too, were soon gathered and put into a new hive. By this time the third one was out and they saw it was getting ready for a long flight, for it kept getting higher and higher, despite the racket they made, and started off. It flew for quite a distance before it settled on the limb of a shell-bark hickory tree in a field on the adjoining farm.
"Of all the places for them to pick out," said Bob, as he and Edith came up and saw where they had finally settled, "but nevertheless I'm not going to lose that swarm, if I can help it; though it's going to be pretty hard climbing that tree. Every time I climb a hickory tree, I think of Jim Black."
"Why, who was he?" asked Edith.
"Oh, he was the meanest man in the country. They say he'd wear out a pair of new overalls climbing a sell-bark hickory tree to get the wool out of a robin's nest," laughed Bob.
"He must have been pretty mean if he'd do that," said Edith.
After considerable work, Bob managed to get up over the rough jagged trunk and finally succeeded in cutting off the limb on which the bees were hanging. With the end of the limb in one hand, he worked his way back to the trunk and then gradually on down to the ground, where Edith took the limb from him. After putting the bees into a box they carried them back and put them into a new hive.
Shortly after the bees had arrived at the farm, Bob had purchased ten new sectional hives and a supply of ready-made combs to aid them in rapid honey-making. Much to his surprise he found two of these hives had been set up and had colonies working in them.
"I wonder when those hives got bees in them, Edith?" he inquired, surprised to see he had two more colonies than he knew about.
"That's a secret," she laughed.
"What do you mean—a secret?" he asked.
"Well, yesterday when you were in town two colonies swarmed and Aunt Bettie and I didn't know what to do with them, but Tony overheard us talking about it, and what do you suppose he did?"
"It looks as though he hived them," replied Bob.
"That's just what he did. He wouldn't put on a veil or gloves, either, but just went over to the limb, scraped them into a box, carried them over and put them in the hive. He even picked up the queen and held it up and showed it to me. I was afraid to get too close for fear I'd get stung, for I didn't have a veil on. He said he understands bees and that they never sting him."
"That's fine," said Bob. "I'd lost them if it hadn't been for Tony."
"Yes, I think they would probably have gotten away," said Edith, "so you'll have to thank Tony for saving them for you. I think your hives are too hot, Bob. The trees don't shade them from the afternoon sun. Why don't you design a concrete apiary, a sort of an umbrella, and keep them cooler, then they're not so apt to swarm. You could make it so it could be closed up in the winter, too, then you wouldn't need a cellar."
"I'll do that to-night," said Bob, "because we can't afford to lose any bees, they're too valuable this time of the year, just when the honey-making season's opening."
"I think, Bob," said Edith, on the way back to the house, "that the bees and the chickens are the most interesting things you have on the farm. I really believe I could manage both myself after a little while," she continued, smiling at him, as they walked along.
"I think myself you could, Edith," he added, looking full into her eyes in an understanding way, and then they both became suddenly silent and didn't speak again until they reached the house.
XIX
THE STORM
Joe Williams found that they had enough fence posts made to erect a section along his property fronting on the main road. That there might be no dispute about the line, he had a surveyor come out from the town to set stakes giving the dividing lines. In order that his neighbors would all be satisfied, he invited them over and showed them just where the stakes would come, referring to the original survey of the property in order to establish the monuments. When they were all satisfied that the lines were right, he had the monuments re- established by iron pipe put deep into the ground until such times as he could put in monuments of concrete.
The farm fronted on the main road for a distance of twelve hundred feet. There were now two entrances—the old main entrance at the lane on the west side of the farm, and the new road to the sand pit over the breast of the old dam, near the eastern border. There was a small corner of about an acre and a half between the new pond and the road— sort of triangular shape piece.
As soon as the holes were all dug, Bob got his sketch, showing the placing of the fence posts and the location of the two gates at the entrance to the property; also sketches for two extra large posts, one on each side of the driveway. These posts were ornamental and made specially strong by steel rods, not only to support the gates, but with two bolts placed near the top for attaching a sign, for it had been decided that there should be a sign, cast in concrete for permanency, and painted white with deep blue letters and border. The sign was to be fifteen inches high and twenty inches long and contain the words: "Brookside Farm, Joseph Williams, Proprietor."
Tony had made a set of forms for these posts, which were to be cast in place, though the other posts had all been pre-cast at the sand pit and were set up in the holes as they were dug. The old rail fence had been moved back and the fence row thoroughly grubbed out before the wire fence was strung. When the wire was finally put in place and the old rails hauled away, it gave a very neat appearance to the entrance of the farm.
Between this fence and the new ditch, and lying between the two entrances to the farm, was a field of about seven acres which they decided to plant in potatoes, as this field was the most fertile of all on the farm.
"What will we do with the little corner down by the pond, Bob?" asked his uncle that evening as they sat around the table for their daily conference.
"I've a suggestion to make for that," said his wife.
"Well, what is it, now?" asked her husband smiling.
"Build a little cottage there for Tony and Maria. When we get through with our concrete work, Tony can then make fence posts, apiaries and other standard concrete sections at the pit and we can sell them; besides, he can keep account of all the sand and gravel that is taken away, and, of course, if he lives there, he'll always be on hand when we need him. You remember what John White said about other farmers putting up concrete buildings, and that each time they erected one we could sell them the materials. It will make Tony and Maria happy, and keep them where their services will be most available."
"That's a good idea, Bettie," said her husband. "How much would such a house cost?"
"I don't know, but I think we ought to make them comfortable in a house that would cost not much over $1000 to $1500. It should be of the bungalow type and will help to give our farm a very artistic look."
"What were you and Maria doing down around the pond the other day?" asked her husband, suddenly remembering that he saw them there.
"Oh, we were planting slips for willow trees. When they grow up, if we trim them, it will enhance the appearance very much."
"Oh, that was it?" added her husband, winking at Bob. "I saw the young willow trees, but didn't know who planted them."
"Now, you're only joking," said his wife. "You knew all the time what we were doing."
"Fine idea, although I must confess I didn't quite understand at first what it was, but I see now: we're not only going to have prosperity at Brookside, but beauty as well," and coming over to the side of the table where she was sitting, he kissed her.
"What are you and Ruth so busy at, Edith?" asked her uncle, looking across at them.
"We've so many bulletins, Uncle Joe, that I am indexing and filing them on a shelf, so we can get them just when we want them," said Edith. "You see, information, unless it's used, is of no value, and if we don't arrange our information so it's easily available when we need it, it will be of little service to us."
"I'm glad the old job's done," said Ruth, "for Edith has been making me write all the names and numbers in a book and it's been a terrible job, Uncle Joe—a good deal worse than running the concrete mixer."
At nine o'clock the family retired and had been in bed but a short time when a severe thunderstorm broke over Brookside Farm. Bob had seen many storms in his eighteen years, but never one so violent as the one which now burst in fury upon them. Peal after peal of thunder followed the bright flashes of lightning, as they struck all around them. The house fairly rocked on its foundations and the storm was so severe they all got up and dressed. Bob had never been frightened by a storm before, but as the heavy claps of thunder followed each other almost as fast as he could wink, he shivered a little at the thought of what would happen if the lightning should strike the house. The whole family assembled in the sitting room wondering what might happen. Bob walked over and stood beside Edith, who was looking out of a window. Involuntarily she leaned against him for protection, and he caught and held her trembling hand. They were standing thus looking out at the storm, when suddenly a brighter flash than any of the others, followed immediately by a loud clap of thunder, almost stunned them. Edith swayed and would have fallen to the floor had Bob not caught her in his arms. Though stunned himself, he managed to keep her from falling, and had scarcely recovered from the shock, when as he looked out through the window he saw the barn was in flames.
"Our barn's been struck," he shouted, and they rushed to the window to look, and sure enough the barn was in flames.
Joe Williams reached for his hat to start out in the storm, but felt a detaining hand on his arm.
"Joe," said his wife quickly, "there's not an animal in the barn, and besides there's scarcely any hay or grain left, and what other things are there, certainly are not worth your risking your life. About the only thing you'll lose will be the harness and some small tools," and catching him firmly by the arms, as she felt him pull away, she continued:
"I'm not going to let you risk your life for those things. There are no other buildings near by that the fire can damage. The rain is coming down in torrents, and it will prevent the flames setting anything else on fire. Let's all go out on the porch and watch it burn," she added, and while the storm continued unabated, they huddled together at the end of the porch watching while the barn slowly burned to its foundations.
"For how much did you have it insured, Joe?" asked his wife, as the fire died down.
"Five hundred dollars," said her husband.
"Well, it's a loss, I know," she said, "but it's lucky it burned now instead of later in the season, when it would have been full of grain and implements. I'm glad we've been keeping the live stock in the fields lately."
"Well," said her husband, "there's no use of crying over spilled milk or burned barns, so I say we all go back to bed, for the fire's nearly out and this rain would soon put out any new place it might start up."
"I think it's perfectly splendid, Uncle Joe," said Ruth, now that the lightning had ceased flashing; "this will give Bob and me a chance to build you and Aunt Bettie a new barn."
"All right," said her uncle; "you'll probably have a chance now, Ruth, to show us what you can do with a real building."
Hay making soon arrived and now that the barn had been burned, it was necessary that the hay should be cut and stacked in the field to be brought to the new barn later. It was fortunate, indeed, that the implements did not arrive until the week following the destruction of the barn and that the ones already delivered had been in the wagon shed out of danger—consequently they were all saved.
[Illustration: THE SIDE DELIVERY RAKE FLUFFS UP THE HAY AND LETS THE
SUN DO ITS WORK QUICKLY]
[Illustration: THE SELF-LOADER MAKES POSSIBLE THE QUICK STORAGE OF
PROPERLY CURED HAY AND SAVES TONS OF MAN-LIFTING POWER]
While Joe Williams was sorry to lose his barn, yet in a way he was glad, now that it was gone, for it had always been an eyesore, standing there between the house and the main road. While his wife, too, felt sorry for the loss, she was secretly happy that she could now carry out her plans and build a new house where the old barn had stood, giving it the prominence it should have. Her husband was sure this had been in her mind when they located the dairy house, for he saw it was in the right place to be a part of the group of buildings.
Ruth was in the hay field every day now, helping her uncle with the work. This work seemed to delight her more than anything she had found on the farm. She was very busy driving the hay rake one day when John White's runabout drove up into the barnyard. The banker, however, was not in the car. His nephew, Eddie Brown, and his chum, Herbert Potter, were the occupants. Bob, with Tony and four of the neighbors' boys, were putting the finishing touches on the cow barn and saw them coming. He was not particularly interested in them; they did not like farm work any more than he liked them, and their coming always annoyed him. He was evidently not to be bothered with their society, however, for they went into the house, and a few minutes later he saw them going over to the hay field, where Ruth and her uncle were working.
Bob was so busy with his work that he had practically forgotten them until he looked over and saw Edith at the apiary examining the bees. With her was Eddie Brown, and Bob smiled as he noticed that Eddie was standing at a safe distance from the hives.
It was perhaps a quarter of an hour later when Bob again looked over into the hay field and saw the two boys with pitchforks turning hay, in a portion of the field that was swampy and full of elderberry bushes. He was still watching them when he saw Eddie use his fork to strike at something in the air and a moment later his friend Herbert did the same thing. Then as he and his helpers watched, the boys seemed to be striking all around them with their pitchforks. Suddenly Eddie and Herbert fell to the ground and began to roll, and Bob saw his uncle stop the team, jump from the mower and rush over in their direction.
There was no further doubt in Bob's mind what was going on. As soon as his uncle had gotten near them, he took a bundle of hay and struck in all directions as he rushed in and got one of the boys by his legs and started to drag him out.
Ruth, not to be outdone by her uncle, stopped her horse and rushed back and grabbed Eddie Brown's legs and started to pull him away. She no sooner had hold of his legs than she snatched off her straw hat and began waving it frantically around in the air, then turned and rushed for the house as fast as she could go.
Bob looked to see what had become of Edith, and noticed her leaning against a tree near the apiary. Even at the distance he was from her, he could tell she was enjoying the situation as much as himself.
There was no question of what had happened. The boys had stirred up a nest of swamp bumble bees, and instead of running away from them had stopped to fight them. It suddenly occurred to Bob that his uncle liked these two boys about as much as he liked them himself, and he figured it was perhaps for this reason his uncle had forgotten the existence of the bumble bees, that he doubtless located when he ran the mower over them. Perhaps it was also for this reason he would not let Ruth rake there, but instead set the boys at work with forks.
As he watched, Bob saw them all go down to the brook where his uncle dabbed wet clay on the stings and where a few minutes later Edith joined them and escorted them back to the house.
Ruth was so badly stung that she was ill and her aunt put her to bed at once. The boys sat on the porch for a while, the picture of distress, listening to Edith narrate the story of the fight. Both of Herbert's eyes were swollen tight shut and Eddie was able to see out of only one of his. After sitting restlessly on the porch for a half hour, they got into their car and started for home.
"What are you laughing at, Tony?" asked Bob, as they watched the car disappear down the lane.
"The boys no-a like-a da work, and-a the bees they no-a like-a da boys."
"I guess that's about right," said Bob; "we probably won't see them again for some time."
XX
GOOD ROADS
As the Fourth of July approached, John White, the banker, and Joe
Williams, proprietor of Brookside Farm, held a number of conferences.
It was finally decided to celebrate the Fourth with a picnic on the
farm.
"I don't think we'll make it exactly a day of rest though," said the banker, "for I notice your wheat is just about ready for cutting, Joe. Why not use the tractor to draw your new binder instead of the team."
"I'll have to do that anyway, whether I want to or not," smiled Joe.
"How's that?" asked the banker.
"Well, we have two of the finest little Belgian colts you've ever seen," he replied.
"Indeed!" exclaimed the banker. "They will be worth money to you."
"Yes," said Joe Williams, "those colts will easily bring from $150 to $250 by next spring."
"Now, you can see why it pays to keep good stock, Joe," said the banker. "No farmer should waste feed on horses that weigh less than 1600 pounds—from that on up to 2000 pounds is the coming horse in this country. Look what a difference there is in their capacity for work and a large horse really eats little more than a small scrub."
After some discussion it was decided that the County Commissioners should be invited to the picnic, also a representative of the Portland Cement Association, to tell them about the making of concrete roads, and that Mr. Patterson, too, should be included in the invitation.
Shortly after moving to town, Bob's grandparents had gone for an extended visit to their relatives and had just returned to their new home a few days before the picnic, so on the morning of the Fourth, the first to arrive at Brookside were his grandparents. Bob was not only delighted to see them, but fully enjoyed their surprise at the changed appearance of the farm. Of course, the loss of the barn was one of the things that made the farm look different, but the neat wire fence, with its self-opening gates at the main road, the new buildings which were fast taking shape, and the replacing of the old pond with a field of fine growing corn, all helped to give the farm a changed look.
Bob's grandmother had evidently changed her mind regarding the son's trip to the poorhouse. Her rest from farm labor and the long visit among old friends had rekindled her interest in all things. She was as eager as a child and listened keenly as Bob took them from building to building and showed what had been done and explained the details and new devices; also the other buildings that were contemplated. His grandmother was delighted, most of all with the dairy and hen house.
"I tell you, Bob," she said, "you've certainly made the work light for a woman on this farm, and I'm glad now that Joe has been able to put in a modern farm equipment. I suppose the next thing you'll be doing will be to put up a new house and barn."
"Oh, yes, we've arranged that already, grandmother," said Bob. "You see, when the lightning struck the old barn we didn't have our plans made or anything, so after John White and Uncle Joe talked it over they decided to get Mr. Brady, the contractor, to help them out with the buildings. It would have been a pretty big job for Tony and me to get them all up this summer."
"You've really accomplished wonders already, Bob, with the dairy house, hen house and cow barn," said his grandmother.
"These are the contractor's tools and materials over here, grandma," said Bob; "he says he's going to have all the buildings finished by September first."
"Not the new house, Bob?"
"Well, it may take longer for that building, as the house will have to be plastered and painted, but he has agreed to have the barn up by the first of September and the house not later than the first of November. They're all going to be of concrete and fireproof, too, like our smaller buildings," he said proudly.
"They must be costing a good deal, Bob."
"Not so much, grandma; the contract price for the barn is $2000 and the house $4500."
[Illustration: THE ELECTRIC-DRIVEN LAUNDRY PERMITS THE WIFE TO KEEP
PACE WITH HER TRACTOR-DRIVING HUSBAND AND BANISHES BLUE MONDAYS]
"My, Bob, that's a terrible amount of money to spend for two buildings."
"Yes, but wait till you see all we're getting out of the farm this year, grandma. Now, come over and see the laundry we've fitted up in the old wash house. Of course, we'll have a real laundry in the new house, but this will give you some idea of what it will be like," he said, as he opened the door and showed her in. "This is the washing machine and wringer, and this is the mangle."
"Why, what's the mangle for?" she asked.
"Oh, that's the machine for ironing the clothes," answered Bob. "They all run by electricity, too. The waste water from the pond runs a turbine water wheel and that's connected by a belt to an electric generator, a machine for changing mechanical energy to electrical energy, you know; and all we need to do is to throw this switch over and the wheel starts turning down at the pond and we have current. Of course, at night we take the current from the storage batteries for lights, after we shut down the wheel, but these motors require too much current to use the batteries for them, economically."
"Why, do you have electric lights in the house, Bob?" she asked.
"Not in the house, grandma—only in the new buildings, and the laundry. We didn't think it would pay to put the lights in the house for only a few weeks in the summer, when we'll soon have our new house finished, but, of course, there'll be electric lights in the new house."
"Well, Bob, it's certainly wonderful the way things have changed in such a short time. I was admiring your bees as we came up the new drive. The white hives certainly look nice sitting over there under the green trees, and such a lot of white chickens, Bob. I never saw so many in one place in my life before. How many have you now?"
"Almost 1000, grandma," he replied proudly. "Edith mostly looks after them and the bees."
"What will you do with so many, Bob?"
"Oh, we'll sell a lot and keep some for laying. Just wait till you see our books next spring—you'll see how it pays."
At eleven o'clock the neighbors began to arrive in automobiles, buggies and wagons; each brought a full basket with them. Bob's aunt, Maria and the two girls were as busy as bees in the kitchen preparing coffee and lemonade, and Bob's nose detected the odor of fried chicken.
Joe Williams had taken the tractor and binder and gone to the wheat field and was busy cutting his wheat. As fast as the farmers arrived, they adjourned to the field to see the tractor work. As the wheat field was not far from the meadows, they all had a chance to see Bob's apiary, where Tony was busy hiving a colony of bees that had swarmed that morning.
At twelve o'clock Joe Williams stopped the tractor and came over to join his guests. Lunch was served under the trees surrounding the house. As soon as they were all assembled, the baskets were opened and Bob's aunt and the girls served the hot coffee, lemonade and fried chicken. When the dinner was finished, John White, who was accompanied by his wife, Mr. Patterson and a strange gentleman, arose and said:
"We have gathered here at Brookside Farm to renew old acquaintances and make new ones, and I know no better day on which to strike a blow for liberty from hard work than the day on which we celebrate our National Liberty.
"Before going into the details of how you may gain that liberty, we are going to sing 'America'; then after that we're going to sing a new song composed by one of the young ladies living here at Brookside Farm—Miss Edith Atwood. She has made copies of the words so you can all help sing it; you'll find the tune easy and perhaps familiar to some of you. Let's stand while we sing 'America'," and as they arose Tony stepped forward with his flute and led off with the tune.
"Wait! wait!" exclaimed the banker; "you're all free men, singing your National Hymn. Don't be afraid to sing out—there isn't a third of you singing. Now let's get together and ALL sing—sing like the free men we are and intend to remain. All ready!" and he led off with a fine baritone voice.
There was not a person there who did not sing his best and it was surprising how many good voices there were among them. When they had finished and seated themselves, Ruth passed around the copies of the new song. Much against her protest, she was wearing a dress to-day.
"Now we'll try the new song," said the banker, "but first we'll have Tony play the air through so that you may learn the tune. All ready— now let's have the song," and as Tony started the air again they sang:
OH, HAPPY, HAPPY FARMER (Tune, "Oh, Mother Dear Jerusalem") Oh, do you know the joy that comes from living on a farm, When you have power to do your work, and steam to keep you warm?
Oh, happy, happy farmer, his life is free from care—An auto in his garage, and good roads everywhere.
They sang it with a will—not once but three times.
"That's a good song," said the banker; "one with a sermon, and that's the kind that lasts. I hope you'll all remember it. I want to congratulate Miss Atwood on the happy thought so ably expressed by the song.
"Now I want to talk to you men for a few minutes. Some of you were here last spring when we made Joe Williams doubly happy while he was away getting married, by doing his spring plowing by power. You have seen his tractor working this morning in the wheat field, and you can all judge of the advantage of the use of power by the acreage he cut since morning. Most of you have also looked at the new concrete buildings that Joe Williams has erected here at Brookside, and you must all admit that they are well designed and well-built, permanent buildings. Of course, the cow barn is not quite finished, and the main barn and the house will not be finished until fall, but the work has proceeded far enough so you can get a good idea of what it's going to mean to Joe Williams and his goodwife to have these conveniences to work with. Just look out into the barnyard there at that array of machinery; it looks almost like machinery hall at the State Fair, and I want to tell you men that there's not a piece of machinery in that whole lot that you should not have on your own farms, and you can get them just the same as Joe Williams got his, if you want them. It doesn't pay to work with poor tools, any more than it pays to get a half crop where you could get a full crop if you managed rightly. Good tools reduce labor and increase speed so that you can accomplish a great deal more with less work than with a poor outfit. Not one of you could drive by that new fence, with concrete posts, on the main road this morning, without realizing the permanent nature of it, and without wishing you had your own farm fenced in the same way.