"I don't suppose you men appreciate the fact that the wire fence on concrete posts costs only $2 per rod, which is $1 a rod less than a five-board-high fence with chestnut posts would cost. Did you ever stop to figure up how many actual hours you spend each year cleaning out your fence rows? Compare that time with the labor spent on producing potatoes and figure out how many more bushels you could have raised this year if you had spent that time looking after them rather than looking after your fences. Speaking of that, did you ever see a finer field of corn in your life than the old pond bottom is producing this year? Do you know that the corn there is already forty per cent. higher than the corn in the adjoining field, and that they are raising four stalks to the hill in that field instead of three in the other field—and that's a thirty-three per cent. increase right there.
"Here's a hen house that will easily accommodate five hundred laying hens. Do you ladies appreciate what that will mean to 'Aunt' Bettie Williams this winter, selling eggs when all your hens have quit laying? I want you ladies while you're here to talk with her; she'll be glad to tell you about her plans. If any of you ever saw a better dairy in your life, I'd like to have the address of it. You can see what it would mean to you to have such a dairy house of your own, and the whole thing, including the icehouse, cream separator, etc., only cost $450. If you would like to get a similar equipment and didn't have a penny and had to borrow the cost from the First National Bank, and pay interest at the rate of six per cent, it would mean only $27 a year, or the wool from four sheep. I want you all to see the herd of Holstein cows before you go away to-night. One cow alone is averaging twenty quarts per day from pasture land, which will mean nearly thirty quarts per day when they are stabled and the feeding can be regulated."
[Illustration: WELL-BUILT CONCRETE ROADS BRING THE MARKETS AND YOUR
NEIGHBORS NEARER, INCREASE THE VALUE OF THE FARMS AND START AN
EPIDEMIC OF NEW FENCES WITH CLEAN FENCE ROWS]
At the mention of this amount of milk, all the farmers looked at each other.
"How many cows does it take to give that much milk?" asked one of them.
"Just one," replied the banker, "and, besides this one, there are several others that give almost as much.
"While I wanted you to inspect the new buildings and see the cattle and machinery—that is not the main reason I asked you to come to Brookside to-day. We are fortunate to have with us Mr. Barth, of the Portland Cement Association, whom I have asked to speak to you briefly on the advantages of good roads."
"It has been a great pleasure for me to be permitted to be a part of this gathering here at Brookside Farm," said Mr. Barth, "particularly as the subject I have to discuss bears directly on the possibility of such gatherings.
"Good roads, my friends, like good manners, commend themselves wherever used. It is very noticeable along improved roads the tendency of the farmers to improve the appearance of their homes and other buildings. In fact, the presence of good roads seems many times to stimulate latent self-respect into practical expression. Social institutions, such as schools, churches and public amusements, are more or less dependent in the country upon road conditions. Think what it would mean to you to have a consolidated school where the more advanced grades and even high school subjects could be taught, a building containing an auditorium, where you could meet any season of the year. I have attended many concerts and even listened to grand opera singers, but I want to say right here I've never had my heart stirred by music before as it has been stirred here this afternoon. Think of the advantages to a community of being able to develop the talent displayed here—what it would mean to you people yourselves to be able to get together, especially in the winter, and sing. What a great benefit and uplift it would be in any community.
"Now, good roads make consolidated schools possible and give you these advantages.
"Take the benefits you now derive from rural free delivery of mail— the happiness and home comforts it has brought; nothing contributes so much to its efficiency and regularity as good roads.
"It is a matter of common observation that when any community has passed from a condition dominated by bad roads to a condition which is characterized by good roads, land values in that community advance. The cost of hauling farm produce to market is probably not so much increased by the grades as by the bad condition of the road surface. The trouble with unimproved earth roads is that they are muddy for many months in the year.
"Do you know that you can haul six times as much over a good concrete road surface as you can through average mud? Or putting it another way, for the same load hauled one mile in mud, you can go six miles over concrete.
"The Bureau of Statistics of the Department of Agriculture has collected much data that shows the waste of time and money by farmers using dirt roads.
"Why has Joe Williams put power all over Brookside Farm? I'll tell you: for the same reason that you men are going to put it on your farms next year—not because the work is made easier, but because it saves time—lets one man do easily the work of three or four. That's why. Do you want to spend six hours hauling a load from town to your farm, or from your farm to town, when you can do it in one hour? That's what they mean when they tell you about conserving man power. Good roads and only good roads will do that for you.
"Now, just a moment more and I am through. There are a number of different materials for the construction of road beds, but in the speaker's opinion none that will give the universal satisfaction of well-placed concrete. In your community, roads should not cost over $1.75 to $2 per square yard. One thing I would advise you not to do: don't make your roads too narrow. Remember the sides should have well- built shoulders, well graded away from the sides of the road bed. Don't use less than a width of twenty feet—you'll always be glad you had the foresight to make them wide enough. I thank you."
"The next three speakers," said the banker, "you all know; they are your County Commissioners. They are modest men, every one of them, and don't like to make speeches, so I have promised to let them off with just a short announcement. I believe Mr. Wilson has something to say to you."
"This has been the most pleasant day I have ever spent in our county, barring none," said the speaker, by way of introduction. "If any one had told me six months ago that we would have a farm within two miles of our county seat, fenced with wire and permanent concrete posts, with modern permanent fireproof buildings, all equipped with modern power-driven machines and owned by one of the happiest farmers I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, I should have been afraid that someone would have awakened me, for I would have been sure it was a dream. But right here on Brookside Farm are all these things, and I'm told that when Joe Williams gets through with his improvements, there will be even more than I have described. What's more, his books already show that he is making a handsome profit from his farm this year, and that, my friends, doesn't include the returns from his sand and gravel pit. It has been fortunate for him that he had this sand pit on his farm, but aside from that, the farm itself shows that it's going to pay a big return on the investment. Of course, the sand and gravel pit has helped him in getting his equipment quickly, and in that he has been fortunate. But the thing I want to say to you men is that the Commissioners are in hearty accord with the statements just made by Mr. Earth, regarding concrete roads. We feel that you are entitled to better roads, that the county will be greatly benefited by the building of these roads. Of course, the state will pay half the cost of these roads, the county one-fourth, but the balance of the cost will have to be borne by you. I know there is no one here who wants to spend six or even three hours in hauling a load the distance he ought to be able to haul it in one hour if the roads were in good shape. We're going to advertise for a bond issue for ten miles of new concrete roads, six miles of the road will be from the new railroad to town, going by this farm, and as soon as this is built we will extend this road and others leading out of the town. One of our principal reasons for selecting this particular road to start with is the fact that we need sand and gravel for the construction of all these roads, and, as a considerable portion of this sand and gravel will have to come from the Williams pit, it will save a great deal of cost in hauling by having good roads for the distribution of the material. I'd like to know if there's a man present who is not in favor of building these concrete roads. If there is, I'd like to have him stand up and tell us why he is against it."
After a moment's pause, during which he looked from one to the other,
Mr. Wilson continued:
"I'm glad to see it's unanimous, and that the Commissioners have your hearty support. There's just one other thing I'd like to say and that is that the First National Bank has agreed to subscribe for the bond issue and loan the county all the money we need to build these roads, and you'll have to thank John White and his 'Constructive Banking' idea for that. I'm sure you'll all be greatly benefited, as it will bring your farms much nearer the market."
"Three cheers for concrete roads," shouted Alex Wallace.
The cheers were given with great applause.
"That's fine," said John White as he arose, "but the improvement of the roads is only the beginning of the work we should do. Each man should plan to improve his own farm, and what's more each acre should be made to produce the maximum amount. First put on plenty of manure, second put on plenty of manure, and third put on plenty of manure— that's what makes the crops.
"Now, I have an announcement I want to make. I have made arrangements with the State Fair Commissioners to establish four prizes to be awarded each year at the Fair. The first prize is a grain prize of $25, and goes to the farmer whose grain produces the largest yield per acre of ground planted. The second, a prize of $25 to the farm that earns the biggest revenue during the year on the capital invested, the third is a prize of $25 for you ladies and goes to the farm whose dairy earns the most money per cow, and the fourth is a prize of $25 to the farm whose poultry earns the greatest amount per hen. There will be a set of rules governing all these prizes. No farm will be eligible to compete for any of them that has not a regular system of cost accounting and whose books cannot be examined and audited by a public auditor. All book accounts must run from March first of one year to March first of the succeeding year. I believe Mr. Barth has something further to say to you."
Mr. Barth arose and said:
"Gentlemen, I represent, as you know, the manufacturers of Portland cement, and I am authorized to say that the Association has also added a prize of $25 to be awarded each year in this county to the farmer who uses the most concrete on his farm during the year—the County Commissioners to be the judges in each case."
Whereupon John White arose and continued:
"Now, before making a visit around the farm, I wish to call your attention to a couple of things I'd like you to be sure and see. First, take a look at the running water, especially the shower bath. You men have no idea how it freshens one up at the end of the day to take a shower. Why let the golfer alone enjoy all the good things when you need them more? You should all have running water and a shower. I also want to call to your attention that when the ditch was dug to put in this water system, the ground was so hard that it was blasted out with dynamite. If you will walk out to the orchard back of the smokehouse, and take a look at the field of oats, you will see a strip o>f oats more than a foot higher than the surrounding oats and eight feet wide running across the field—that will show you what dynamite does to the land. I would like you to go to the edge of the field and take a look at those oats. Most of us think that dynamite is used for tearing things apart, but here is a case where it is building up the land and making it produce greater crops. You farmers who are going to exhibit oats at the State Fair this year better look out for your laurels, because I think Joe Williams has the prize winner right there on that piece of dynamited land."
The afternoon was spent in examining the buildings and new machinery, and looking over the plans for the new house and barn. Bob had almost lost his voice by the time the last of the farmers had gone explaining to them the details of the work.
There was not a prouder or happier boy in the state of Pennsylvania that night than Bob Williams, for he felt that Brookside Farm was destined to be a great success and he had been a part of the redemption of the old homestead.
They sat out on the porch in the twilight. While Tony played on his flute they sang many songs. They were surprised how much talent they had in their own family circle. Aunt Bettie and Edith both had good soprano voices and Ruth a fair contralto. Bob sang tenor and his uncle bass. It was Maria, though, that surprised them with a remarkable good mezzo-soprano.
They were all too happy to sleep, so they sang song after song until the clock struck eleven. Then they sang "The Happy Farmer" song again and went to bed. It had been a great day for Brookside Farm.
XXI
FILLING THE SILO
While Bob and Tony (helped out by the neighbors' boys who came to Brookside Farm to learn the handling of cement) carried on the building work, Mr. Brady, the contractor, made rapid strides with the construction of the house and barn.
Joe Williams looked after the crops with occasional help from Bob and Tony. Ruth, who found the greatest pleasure in the fields, deserted Bob and his concrete mixer entirely for her uncle's machinery. She soon learned to handle the big tractor and used it to cut the entire field of oats. After acquiring the knack of using a pitchfork, it was surprising the work she did and thrived on. She had one vanity, however—that of having her picture taken nearly every day in her farmerette clothes. Edith, who took these pictures, declared Ruth spent her nights thinking up some new poses for the next day's pictures. But they were a happy family, and many a summer evening, when they all seemed too tired to move, Tony's sudden appearance with his flute would start them all singing and cause them to forget their bodily fatigue.
"The corn in the back field looks as though it's about ready for the silo, Bob," said his uncle one morning, "and I think we had better arrange to start filling it to-morrow. It will give us a chance to try out our new machinery. It's surprising how large the corn in the new bottom has grown—I never would have believed it myself without having actually seen it."
"Don't you think, Uncle Joe, we should leave a small section of the best of it standing, say three or four acres, for seed corn? We could get $5 a bushel next spring for good seed corn, besides having our own. Then, too, we ought to have some to exhibit at the Fair. I don't think there'll be any corn like it in the county."
"That's so," said his uncle. "It would be well to do that. We could exhibit some on the stalks, too, and then people could see how fertile Brookside Farm is. I've arranged to put on four men and three teams to help us, Bob, because it will take seven to handle the outfit. It ought not to take us more than three days to do the work—that would mean fifty tons per day to haul and three horses on the binder."
So the next morning at seven o'clock the new corn binder was started in the bottom field and by the end of the third day the corn was all harvested, cut to three-quarter inch length and placed in the silo, without a break or delay.
"There's one advantage in having the right kind of machinery to do a job, Uncle Joe," said Bob admiringly; "you can cut the corn when it's just right. If we had let the corn stand a few days longer, it would not have been as good as it is now. We'll probably have the best ensilage that will be put up this year."
[Illustration: TRANSFERRING THE GREEN CORN CROP FROM FIELD TO SILO. NO
FARMER DOING WINTER FEEDING CAN AFFORD TO BE WITHOUT A PROFIT-MAKING
SILO]
"What rate do you think we should charge for the corn binder and ensilage cutter, Bob?" asked his uncle. "Some of the neighbors want to hire it."
"Why not use twenty acres as a basis and charge the same as we decided for the other tools,"
"That looks pretty high," said his uncle.
"No higher than it should be," replied Bob. "If we kept the machines ourselves, Uncle Joe, they would be in good shape for five years, but you know when you rent a machine out, they don't take care of it as we do, so I think we ought to charge one per cent. of the cost of the two machines per acre to each farmer who rents it."
"But if you rent it to five farmers in a season, Bob, we would pay for the machines in one year and still own the machines. Isn't that a pretty high price?" asked his uncle.
"But wouldn't the machines have done five years' rated work, Uncle
Joe? Do you know anybody who is renting them cheaper?"
"It might be cheaper for some fellows to club together and get the machines," said his uncle.
"Well, then let them do it and in the meantime our machines won't be worn out," said Bob.
"All right," said his uncle; "Billie Waterson put up a silo and wants to borrow our machines."
"I'd make him agree to return them in good condition and pay for all repairs necessary," said Bob; "don't forget that."
"All right," said his uncle; "I think I'll let him have it on that basis."
As soon as the silo had been filled, the apple-picking was started. They had been in a quandary to know just how to get this crop harvested, as the trees were exceptionally full of well-developed apples. Tony finally solved the problem by saying he could send to Pittsburgh and get three or four Italian boys who would be willing to work for a dollar or two a day, so they were engaged. All the apples were carefully picked by hand and assorted in sizes, using a device designed by Tony, where the apples were allowed to roll slowly down a trough. As the apples dropped through the hole in the bottom of the grading trough, they rolled down other chutes to the waiting crates.
"I think we'll sell our apples this year, Bob, by the piece instead of by the bushel," said his aunt, after inspecting the first that were picked. "They look so fine I think we can easily get four to five cents each for them if they are put in nice cartons and each apple wrapped in paper. We can put our label on them and after we have marketed them for a year or two, people will write in for their supply. I know some firms in the mountains of Virginia who are doing that now and selling all they can raise. We can keep the first and second grade apples for sale and the third for our own use and for cider making. I think perhaps the three best sellers would be the Winesaps, Black Twigs and Albemarle Pippins. They look exceptionally fine. I don't think I ever saw nicer apples than ours."
When they had the apples all gathered, they found they had 500 bushels of first and second grade apples of the three varieties and 63 bushels of the third grade. Of these latter they kept 13 bushels for their own use, and after making ten barrels of cider, they offered the rest for sale in town, where they obtained 50 cents per bushel for them.
"It will be better, Joe, to sell them off at a cheap price rather than keep them and sort them all winter. Besides, we don't want to market any but the best under the name of the farm."
"We must hurry the work, Bob, on the root cellar to take care of our apples," said his aunt.
"All right, Aunt Bettie," he replied; "it's nearly finished."
A few days after the cider-making had been completed, the new milking machine arrived. The agent for the manufacturers sent a man to show Bob how to erect it. When the machine had been completed and tried out, they tested it out that night. Bob found he could milk his ten best cows in just a half hour, or half the time it had taken before to milk by hand.
Milking by power certainly was a great idea and the cows didn't seem to object at all to the change. Bob and his aunt were sure now that they had not made any miscalculations on designing the dairy barn for a twenty-cow herd; they felt they would be able to take care of that number easily.
"Let's go hunting, Bob," said Ruth one morning at breakfast a few days later. "I'd like to shoot some real game."
"All right," said Bob, "but we've only one gun between us. You see, I don't own a gun and Uncle Joe has only one."
"Oh, that reminds me," said his uncle, "John White gave me a package yesterday to bring out for you and I was so busy I forgot and left it in the automobile last night. I guess it's still there," and he winked at Edith and Ruth across the table.
Bob got up and went to the barn and came back a few minutes later with a long package. When opened, he found, much to his delight, it contained a double-barreled hammerless shotgun. Tied to the gun was a card on which was written: "For my friend, Bob Williams, with best wishes, from John White."
"That was splendid of him to buy me a gun. I wonder why he did it," exclaimed Bob.
"Well, I guess he likes you, Bob," said his uncle, "and he feels you're helping to do a good work in the county, so he just bought it for you. It's the same gauge as mine, so you can use some of my shells, although he gave me two boxes of shells already loaded," and he handed over the shells to Bob. "And this is your belt," he said laughing, and he handed Bob a very fine belt of buff leather.
"We certainly can go hunting to-day, Ruth," said Bob, delighted with his new present, and as soon as the milking and chores were done, they set off back of the pond and through the woods, back of the "Old Round Top."
Bob had every confidence in Ruth's ability to shoot and did not fear an accident from her gun. While Ruth couldn't do many things, shooting was not one of them, for she had proven herself to be an expert shot on a number of occasions. When they reached the woods they separated and Bob went up the ravine while Ruth kept along the hillsides. They had not gone very far when a chicken hawk flew over the ravine just ahead of Bob and alighted on a tree. Here was an unexpected opportunity of making a good shot and bringing home a trophy worth while. So he took careful aim and fired, but the distance was either too great or the aim was bad, for the hawk flew away. He continued up the ravine until he came to a line fence which he followed up the hill and joined Ruth, neither one having had an opportunity of shooting at any other game.
"Too bad you missed him, Bob; he was such a fine-looking specimen."
"Did you see it, Ruth?"
"Yes, it ran alongside of me."
"What do you mean, it ran alongside of you?" asked Bob; "the last I saw of it, it was flying."
"Flying!" exclaimed Ruth. "Why it ran along the ground just like a dog and had a big red bushy tail. I was sitting on a stump taking a rest when you fired. It came sneaking up the hill toward me, all the while watching you. It came up so close I could have put my hand out and touched it. It stopped right in, front of me for a minute or two and then ran off up over the ridge."
"What are you talking about Ruth?" asked Bob. "The thing I shot at was a hawk and it flew through the air. It didn't run along the ground at all."
"Oh," said Ruth, "what I saw must have been a fox, and, Bob, it stood just in front of me for a minute or two before it turned and went away."
"If that's so why didn't you shoot it?" demanded Bob.
"I was too excited. I never thought about shooting it."
"Well, you lost an opportunity of a lifetime. You'll probably never get a chance to get a fox as easy as that again."
"Please don't tell the folks at the house, Bob, that I had the buck fever—they'd never get through teasing me if they knew I'd let such a chance go by."
They hunted all the rest of the morning, but got only three grey squirrels, of which Ruth shot two.
A few days later, as Ruth was crossing the oat stubbles, she saw a small black and white animal skipping along through the stubbles just ahead of her. Thinking it was a kitten that had strayed from the house, she rushed after it and was almost ready to pick it up when she suddenly changed her mind and started for the house as fast as she could go.
The dinner bell had rung and as Ruth came around the side of the house, her aunt and Edith, who were sitting on the porch, shouted in unison: "Go 'way! Go 'way! Go out to the barn. Where've you been?"
"I tried to pick up a kitten out in the oat stubbles," confessed Ruth.
"Well, I guess you did, all right," said her aunt. "Wait until Edith gets you some clothes and then go out to the old icehouse and change them. Leave the clothes you have on out there, because you'll never be able to wear them again."
Ruth, who had been trying hard to control her feelings, now broke into sobs, for she had only one farmerette suit and this meant the loss of it.
"It was such an innocent-looking kitten, too," she said.
"Innocent nothing," said her uncle, who came in from the barn just then. "Don't you know a skunk when you see one?"
"No, I didn't, but I will next time," confessed Ruth. Edith then appeared with the necessary garments and took them to the icehouse where she left them and where Ruth later went and made the change. That afternoon she was particularly depressed, for she had to wear a dress instead of her favorite breeches, which seemed to depress her more and more as the afternoon wore on. She gladly welcomed the appearance of Eddie Brown and Herbert Potter, who drove out to see the girls and to tell them they were about to leave to go to school.
Bob was now working on a new piggery, which he and Tony had well under way. The pens were to accommodate thirty pigs, and were built so they could be extended from time to time, as they might decide. In addition to the pen, they were constructing a large feeding floor, and now that work on the main barn had been completed, Mr. Brady was pushing the work on the new house, which was progressing rapidly. Bob was sorry it was necessary to build this house so quickly, as he would have liked to work out all the details for it, but he had to be satisfied with the development of the plan, which he and his Aunt Bettie worked out after a great many conferences.
The house was to face the south and have a long porch running the full width of the front with a return on the west end. The south front was to face the flower garden and the west front would connect with the drive, while the back of the house would open into the general barnyard.
They planned to build the woodshed and laundry between the new house and the dairy, with a heating system and the fuel in the cellar. This would prevent the cellar of the main house becoming too warm for storage purposes. They had also decided to build the new machinery house to take care of the implements with a good-size tool shed adjoining—also a garage large enough to accommodate an automobile and two motor trucks and an oil house at one end. They were also at work on fifty concrete apiaries for the protection of the bees. The septic tank was being built by Mr. Brady in connection with the house, but the root cellar, corn crib, manure pit and the sheep barn were yet to be completed by Bob and Tony; but the plans for them had already been worked out.
It had also been decided that they should build a sixty-foot greenhouse for the growing of cucumbers and other vegetables under glass, which they would try out that winter—also a half dozen cold frames and a small mushroom cellar.
The work on the piggery was to include a hog-dipping vat, a platform and scalding vat. A garbage burner had been installed at the rear of the dairy not far from the woodshed.
The plans for the house included a cistern for the collection of rain water in the cellar under the laundry. After these had been planned, they decided that the old brick smokehouse was in a bad location and too far away from the house. So this was abandoned and a new smokehouse added in the rear of the dairy buildings.
In order to get all the work completed, they had found it necessary to let Mr. Brady build Tony's bungalow also, although they would much have preferred to do this work themselves.
They found that even with this help, they would have to let a number of things go over until the next year—among them a bridge to carry the lane over the new ditch, and some ornamental concrete work in connection with the garden.
They could work much faster now than formerly, as many of the neighbors' boys were available for a few days at a time, and even though the fall weather was upon them, they hoped to get all their concrete work done before the December snows.
XXII
THE FAIR
The State Fair, an event that had long been anticipated at Brookside Farm, was scheduled to be held on September tenth that year. The summer was not more than half over before Joe Williams decided that he had, if any thing, a little better crops and stock than any other man in the county; in fact, he was beginning to "feel his oats," as the saying went, and wanted to show his neighbors just how good a farmer he really was, so he took a great deal of pride in getting his products ready to exhibit.
First he decided to enter his team of Belgian mares and their two handsome young colts; then his majesty, King Pontiac, the head of the Holstein herd, and four of his best Holstein cows; then he selected two handsome Holstein bulls and two heifer calves; two Berkshire sows, one with a litter of ten fine pigs, together with two young Berkshire shoats; then Jerry, the Southdown ram, and the best two Southdown ewes and two good lambs; two breeding pens of white Leghorns and two of white Plymouth rocks were then selected; also the best cock and hen and the best cockerel and pullet, together with a dozen eggs laid by each breed. Then he picked out two bushels of the finest corn that had been raised in the bottom land and two bushels of oats and a dozen each of the three varieties of apples, and two bushels of potatoes. Then Bob selected two pounds of his best comb honey and Aunt Bettie and the girls picked out five dozen of their choice jellies and jams, and on the opening day of the fair this exhibition was taken to the fair grounds.
All work on the buildings was stopped and a number of neighbor boys were engaged to help to take the exhibit to town.
All the cattle had been carefully groomed for several weeks in advance and were in fine shape for exhibition purposes, and attracted a great deal of attention.
When the awards had been made, Joe Williams found he had won first prize in every class he had exhibited and in a number he had also carried off second prizes and sweepstakes, while Bob won first prize with his honey and Aunt Bettie five first prizes and four second prizes on her jellies and jams.
As soon as the exhibits were in place, Joe Williams went from one exhibit to another and fastened white cards printed in dark blue letters, containing the following words: "Grown on Brookside Farm, Joseph Williams, Proprietor."
"Say, Bob," said Alex Wallace, "if your Uncle Joe had won a few prizes more there would not have been any left for the rest of us."
"Oh, I don't know," said Bob, "there were lots of other prizes awarded besides those Uncle Joe got. How many did you win?"
"We got first and second on our Jersey cattle and first on our Clydesdale mare and colt, but your Uncle Joe cleaned up all the prizes on the grain."
"Well, next year perhaps you can win them."
"We're going to try for them all right. Father says Joe Williams needn't think he can come back here from the West and annex the State Fair. If he wins next year, he'll have to go some. We bought a tractor to-day, Bob."
"That's fine, Alex. When are you going to start your silo?"
"Oh, pretty soon," he replied as he left Bob.
Thursday was the big day of the Fair, and Bob, as a special reward for his services, was permitted to go to the Fair each day; in fact, much of the care of the stock depended on him, although he was unable to stay in town overnight as he would have liked on account of taking care of the milking.
Whom should he meet early Thursday morning, as he was coming from milking his cows that were on exhibition, but his father.
"Why, hello, Bob. I was just looking for you. My, how you have grown.
I'd scarcely have known you."
"How-do-you-do, dad; how'd you like to have a drink of good fresh milk? 'Grown on Brookside Farm, Joseph Williams, Proprietor,'" he laughed.
"Fine," said his father, whereupon Bob handed him a glass of rich milk.
"Not as good as Gurney's, but pretty good at that," remarked his father. "I've heard about the prizes you and your Uncle Joe have won and couldn't help but come in and look you over, even, though I'm very busy and it was hard to get away."
"How did you leave mother and the rest of the family?" was Bob's next inquiry.
"Oh, they're all well, Bob. Your mother was sorry she couldn't come with me, but it was hard for her to get away. How do you like farming?"
"Oh, I like farming very much and I want to be a farmer. You know, there are lots of interesting things to do on a farm, dad."
"By the way, I met a friend of yours, Bob—John White, of the First National Bank. He was telling me all about the things you've been doing on the old place. He says you even have a name for it."
"Why, yes; didn't you see it on the exhibits? We're going to sell everything under a trade name, just like thread and other things that have names."
"How much do you weigh now, Bob?"
"I weight 137 pounds; that is 27 pounds more than when I went to the farm, and I'm two inches taller."
"I should say you have been growing, Bob. Has your Uncle Joe paid you yet for your year's work?
"No, he hasn't; but he will when he gets 'round to it. You see, he hasn't sold his crops yet."
"How much do you think he will give you, Bob?"
"I don't know, but I think he'll be fair. Aunt Bettie will see to that, if he should forget it himself. If you come along with me, I'll show you how many prize winners we have," and he proudly took his father from one exhibit to another, all the time telling him of the permanent improvements they were making on the farm.
"You must come out to the farm to-night and see the place. You have no idea what it looks like with the old barn gone and nearly all the concrete buildings up. You can see the big silo ever so far away. Of course, the biggest change is the taking away of the pond. Just look at that corn standing there—that's what we got out of the old pond where you taught me to swim. We got over 10 tons per acre of ensilage, after leaving several hundred bushels from the field from which to select our seed. You can see for yourself what fine-looking corn it is. Just look at those big ears there, and all that fifteen acres raised before was muskrats and turtles."
"You're right, Bob, it was a 'Hidden Treasure'."
After the speed trials were over Bob milked his cows again, and with his father drove out to Brookside Farm.
"My, it certainly doesn't look like the old place, Bob," his father remarked, when they came in sight of the farm. "What a fine fence; are those stone posts, Bob?"
"No, dad, they're concrete, but will last just as long as stone."
Bob now stopped the car to give his father time to see all the changes.
"Why, the sawmill's gone too, Bob."
"Yes," he replied, "we'll drive down that way and go in at the lower gate."
It was hard for Bob's father to understand the reason for all the buildings and what conditions had made them different sizes and shapes.
He did not know until Bob explained to him that each building required special designing to suit certain conditions.
That night they sang the "Happy Farmer" song for him, and his father sat up long after the others had retired, talking to his brother Joe.
On the way home from the Fair on Friday afternoon, the animals from Brookside Farm fell in behind those of the Wallace Farm. Alex Wallace was looking after their flock of Merino sheep, in which there was an old buck, and had with him their Scotch collie dog "Don." Bob was looking after his flock of Southdown sheep, which he had driven close behind Alex, so the boys could talk to each other back and forth as they went along.
After a while Alex got tired turning his head around to hear what Bob had to say, for the noise of the clattering feet of the sheep on the concrete road made it difficult for him to hear, so he left his dog "Don" between the two flocks and came back and joined Bob.
They proceeded thus for about a quarter of a mile when suddenly Jerry, the Southdown buck of Bob's flock, started forward and all the others followed, so that the two flocks became merged into one. As Bob rushed forward to separate them, the two bucks stepped up to each other and placed their heads together, when Alex, seeing Bob trying to separate them, shouted:
"That's right, Bob, take your big fellow away or mine will kill him."
The remark angered Bob, whereupon he ceased his efforts and said:
"Well, if you think that little runt of yours can kill ours, I guess we had better let them fight it out." "All right," said Alex; "I'm satisfied."
So the two boys stood still while the two bucks placed their heads together, then stepped slowly backwards until they were on opposite sides of the road, where they stood looking at each other. The ewes crowded back and left an open space between them and stood as intently interested as the boys, waiting the coming battle.
After the bucks had paused for a moment, they lowered their heads and rushed at each other. Now, it must be remembered that a Southdown buck stands very much higher than one of the Merino breed, which is rather short in the legs and set close to the ground. Also that the Southdown had been used to associating with sheep of his own size; consequently when he lowered his head to strike, he did not take into account that the Merino was so much lower than himself. This gave the Merino the advantage, and, instead of the Merino striking his adversary on the hard skull as the latter expected he would do, he struck him on the point of the nose, breaking Jerry's neck.
Both boys were horrified to see Bob's prize-winning buck lying dead in the road, and while they looked at him speechless, Tony, who was coming along behind with some of the cattle, rushed forward and quickly turned him into mutton, while Bob with a heavy heart went on to the farm with the others.
It was not necessary for Bob to explain the fight to his uncle, who came along the road shortly behind him and to whom Tony explained the accident.
"It's all right, Bob," said his uncle, as he drove up into the barnyard. "I know just how you felt when Alex Wallace challenged you to let them fight, and while I'm sorry Jerry is dead, still I think if I had been there myself, I would have taken up his dare, just as you did. You know Brookside Farm has a reputation to maintain, and, while I don't believe in quarreling, still this was a case where I think you were justified in letting them scrap it out. At any rate, we've had such a profitable year at Brookside, I guess we can afford to charge Jerry to the profit and loss account. He has not been exactly a gross loss. Tony has turned him into mutton, and, as soon as I get the cattle stowed away, I'm going back for him."
As soon as the Fair was over and all returned to the farm, they started in to dig their potatoes. Joe Williams expected a good yield from the field, but he was surprised when he found that from the seven acres he obtained 1400 bushels, which was considerably more than he thought was possible. To lessen the work, a potato plow was used to dig them, and they were graded by machinery in the field.
The new concrete root cellar had been completed just a few days before and the potatoes were taken there and put into bins.
"Do you know what I think, Uncle Joe?" said Bob one evening at supper, after the potatoes had all been gathered.
"What have you thought of now?" asked his uncle laughing, for since his crop had turned out so well and he had won so many prizes at the Fair, Joe Williams was very happy.
"I think if we would take our seven-acre potato field and put in an overhead sprinkler system, and put plenty of manure on it next year, we could increase the yield from 1400 bushels to 4200 bushels."
"How could it be possible to get that many potatoes out of seven acres of ground, Bob?" asked his uncle incredulously.
"Well, I've been reading of a farm in New Jersey where they do that, and they got $960 per acre for the potatoes, which were only one of three crops raised on the ground the same year."
"If that's so, Bob, why wouldn't it pay to plant the whole farm in potatoes?"
"Well, maybe it would, Uncle Joe, at least several of the fields. The story of the farm I was reading about said they put on one hundred tons of manure, worth $2.50 per ton, on each acre of ground."
"What!" said his uncle; "$250 worth of manure on each acre. That wouldn't be possible."
"Well, that's what the paper said—plenty of water and plenty of manure, and the crops take care of themselves."
"That's right, Joe," said his wife. "Bob showed me the same article. The farm averaged over $2000 per acre and I think it would be a good idea to buy the outfit next year, Joe. The same as our growing of vegetables under glass. I'm very much interested in growing vegetables out of season—there isn't much work to do in winter and we can easily take care of them, and in that way we may find we could make more money on less ground than by doing general farming."
"Well, it's worth looking into," said her husband. "All of our things so far have panned out pretty good and I'm not willing to pass up anything now without giving it a thorough investigation. By the way, Bettie, don't you think we ought to put an orchard on 'Old Round Top?' That's one field we can't very well plow."
"What had you thought of planting, Joe?"
"I thought peaches would be a good crop there—peaches ought to do well on the south slope."
"Well, you know a peach orchard doesn't live very long and it's rather a fickle crop," she replied.
"I tell you what I was thinking of, Uncle Joe," said Bob.
"What's that?" asked his uncle.
"Planting it with peaches with black walnut trees in between."
"What do you want with black walnuts?" asked Bob's uncle.
"Well, when the trees are grown, you have the walnuts, and when the trees get older black walnut timber, which is very valuable. A hill such as Round Top that isn't much good for anything else, would raise good black walnut timber. Of course, you'd have to dynamite the holes good and deep where you put the trees, so they'd have no trouble getting good roots. Once they were well started, I don't think there'd be any trouble with them."
"I hadn't thought of that, Bob," said his uncle, "but I guess we had better look into it. By the time the peach trees were dead, the walnut trees would have a good start. How many trees will it take to plant it?"
"I figure if we took the whole twelve acres, it would require twelve hundred peach trees," said Bob.
"But that would be a good many peach trees to take care of, Uncle
Joe."
"Yes, but we won't be building any concrete buildings by the time they begin bearing, so why not plant it all in peach trees with the black walnuts in between, as you say?"
"I'll have Edith write to a grower to-night, if you wish, Joe, and find what the peaches will cost," said his wife.
"How about the black walnuts?" asked Bob. "Shall we plant the trees or nuts?"
"I think we had better plant nuts and let them grow themselves. We can stick a lot of them between the peach trees and, of course, the peach trees will be dead long before the walnuts get to be any size."
Much to the regret of every one, two days later Ruth and Edith said good-by to Brookside Farm and went back to their New England homes. They had intended to stay a few weeks longer, but a telegram from Edith's father saying her mother had been taken suddenly ill and needed her, caused them to decide that they should return at once. When Bob came back from an inspection trip with John White and the County Commissioners over the new concrete road, they had packed their trunks and were ready to leave for the afternoon train. He drove the girls and their Aunt Bettie to town in the car and was particularly depressed when he said good-by at the station—somehow or other they had become part of the life at Brookside Farm, and now that they were going he began to realize how much he would miss them. Even the good- natured Ruth, in her impetuous way and ability to get into trouble, had added much to the life on the farm. Edith was very quiet all the way to the station, and Bob could not tell whether it was worrying over the possible illness of her mother or her disappointment in having to return so soon, or maybe, as he hoped, it was for another reason she was silent—at any rate, she had little to say to him as he bid her good-by, but just before she ascended the steps of the train, when, for a second, they looked full into each others' eyes, he seemed to feel that perhaps he was right in attributing it to that reason.
So the girls went on their way and Bob went back to work.
XXIII
CHRISTMAS AT BROOKSIDE FARM
One evening a few days before Thanksgiving, shortly after they had moved into the new house, Bob sat before the open fire talking with his aunt and uncle, when the latter said:
"Bob, it's just a little over nine months since you came to live with us and turned our farm upside down, digging after 'Hidden Treasure.' Do you remember the Sunday we let the water out of the old pond?"
"Yes, I do, Uncle Joe."
"Do you remember the conversation you and I had that day?"
"I haven't forgotten that either, Uncle Joe," said Bob with a smile.
"Well, it's getting around kind of close to payday, don't you think,
Bob?"
"Oh, I don't need any money, Uncle Joe. I received $250 for my honey this fall, and I haven't spent very much yet."
"That's no reason why you should not be paid just the same. You've done your work. I don't know what you feel you've earned, but what would you say if I gave you $540—that's at the rate of $60 per month with board."
"Do you mean to pay me in money, Uncle Joe?"
"Of course, in money. I don't suppose you want to take it out in sand and gravel, do you?"
"No, Uncle Joe, of course not; but do you think I've earned that much money, Uncle Joe?"
"Yes, and more, but that's as much as I feel I can pay you, and if you stay with us another year, and we prosper as well as we did this year, what do you say to calling it $75 per month with board?"
"That'll be splendid, Uncle Joe, and I'll be perfectly satisfied."
"All right," said his uncle, "then it's a bargain, and here's your check for the money," and he handed him a check already made out and drawn to his order for $540.
"Thank you, Uncle Joe," said Bob, looking first at the check and then at his aunt and uncle in turn. "I hope you both feel I've earned it all."
"Oh, yes, you've earned it all right, Bob; don't worry about that," said his uncle.
"If I were you," said his aunt, "I'd stop in at Bush & Company, tailors, and have a couple of nice suits of clothes made—a specially good one for Sunday and another one for general dress-up wear. You should have a new overcoat, too, and some other nice things. You're nineteen years old now, Bob, and you've been working pretty hard this summer, and not paying much attention to your clothes. We'll like you just as well in your old clothes as we will in the new ones, but while you're a farmer, that's no reason why you should not have some good clothes, the same as other boys. You know, Brookside Farm has established a reputation, and while I don't believe in wasting money on clothes, I think we should all be dressed comfortably and be neat."
"All right, Aunt Bettie, I'll be going to town to-morrow and I'll take care of it."
Time flew quickly at Brookside Farm, while they hurried to finish their concrete buildings and get their new fences up before the ground froze up solidly.
After this was done, Joe Williams fixed up a lot of wire racks to take care of his seed corn, and carefully winnowed out his prize oats for good fertile seed. The chickens, too, claimed considerable of their combined attention.
Now that Edith had gone they both began to realize how much help she had been in her quiet way and the many things she had done while there. Bob kept hoping she might be able to return the coming year, although the letters she wrote gave him no encouragement to hope.
"Merry Christmas, Bob," called his aunt, as he came in from doing his chores on Christmas morning, and she handed him a handsome gold watch and chain.
"Merry Christmas, Aunt Bettie," he replied. "Who is this from?"
"That's from your Uncle Joe and me," said his aunt, "and a Merry Christmas I think it should be, for I heard your uncle say yesterday that you finished the last foot of wire fence and that all the concrete work was done, except some garden furniture.
"It has certainly been a busy year for you, Bob," continued his aunt; "when I think of all that has been accomplished, it seems almost inconceivable how we changed the old place in such a short time, and how much more comfortable we are now than when I first came to the farm in April. Do you know, Bob, one of the nicest buildings we have on the farm is Tony's little cottage down by the pond. I am never tired of looking at it."
"It is a handsome building, Aunt Bettie, down there under those big elm trees," said Bob, "and with the pond back of it, it has a very homelike appearance."
"What are you planning to do this winter, Bob, now that the concrete work is practically all done?" she asked.
"Well, I was thinking, Aunt Bettie, now that Brookside has shown its earning capacity, that we might get the pipe ready for the overhead irrigation system in the field over by the main road, and build a pump house down near the pond. The more I read and think of intensive cultivating, the more I believe there's a lot of money can be made by this method. Of course, if we don't want to raise potatoes, we could easily raise celery or other vegetables, and you know we can get four crops a year off the ground instead of one, if we plant it right, and fertilize it heavy enough."
"We'll do no work to-day, Bob, for this is a holiday, so we'll just have a good time. Did you get your new clothes from the tailor?"
"Yes, I got them last night. Maybe I'll dress up to-day just to see how they look," he added, smiling back at her.
"Why are we having such a large table for Christmas dinner, Aunt Bettie?" he asked a little later in the morning, as he passed through the dining room and saw the table extended to an unusual size.
"I didn't know but some one might drop in for dinner on Christmas," said his aunt evasively.
"Why, is there some one coming, Aunt Bettie?" he asked.
"You just wait and see," spoke up his uncle, who came into the room.
"All right," said Bob; "I guess I'll have to wait."
"That reminds me," said his uncle, winking at his wife. "I forgot something in town that I was to bring out. John White asked me to stop around at the bank, so I'll have to go back—guess I'll have time to get in and back again before dinner."
"We won't have dinner to-day until 12:30, Joe," said his wife, "so if you start now you ought to be back easily by that time," she added smiling.
When the new house at Brookside was planned, a small room had been built on the first floor to—be used as a sort of an office. In this room a flat-top desk with drawers had been placed and a bookcase to contain all their bulletins and other information had been built at one end in a convenient place. The set of books containing the cost accounting system of the farm was kept in this desk. In this room Bob also kept a small draughting board and his instruments. At odd times he sketched new buildings and other things for the improvement of the farm. He now went to this room and began work again on the designs of some garden furniture, which they were planning to place on the sloping ground in front of the house the following spring. He was busy at work when his attention was attracted by the sound of an automobile coming up the driveway. He looked out of the window as the car flashed past; he recognized some of the faces, and rushed out to the porch to great them.
There was something very unfamiliar about the car as it came up the driveway. As it drew near he saw the reason, for instead of the Ford his uncle had taken to town, he was now sitting in a new seven- passenger Buick. In the front seat, with his uncle, sat Bob's father, and in the back seat was his mother, with his grandmother and grandfather on either side of her.
Bob had rushed out bare headed to greet them. He kissed his mother and grandmother and shook hands with the others.
"Well, what do you think of your Aunt Bettie's Christmas gift, Bob?" asked his uncle, as they got back on the porch and turned around to look at the new car.
"What do you mean, Aunt Bettie's Christmas gift?" he asked.
"The new car," said his uncle.
"Is that her car, Uncle Joe?"
"Yes, I just bought it for her—that's her Christmas gift. Isn't it a dandy?"
"Whee! It surely is," said Bob. "Does she know yet that you bought it?"
"No, that's a surprise that's coming to her," and they both ran into the dining room where she was busy with the dinner, to escort her out to inspect the car.
Bob had never seen his aunt so happy as when she inspected the car and his uncle insisted upon her getting into the seat, as he explained to her the operation of the levers. Her eyes were bright with joy when she got out of the car a moment later and went back to her dinner and her guests.
"It was very kind of you, Joe, to remember me in this way," and her eyes were suspiciously wet. "I feel more than repaid for all the work I have done to help you build up Brookside Farm."
Christmas Day at Brookside was an event long to be remembered, for not only had Bob the pleasure of explaining to his mother and father the work they had been doing all summer and telling them of their plans for the coming year, but during the afternoon a large auto truck arrived at the house and unloaded a fine piano and victrola, the latter with a dozen well-selected records.
His aunt couldn't believe her eyes when this second Christmas present arrived. The only satisfaction she could get from her husband was that he and John White had talked it over and decided that they needed some music at Brookside to brighten their evenings. After supper that night, his Aunt Bettie sat down at the piano and began to play.
It was only a few minutes before they were all gathered around the piano singing. Naturally, the first song was Edith's "Happy Farmer"; they were just in the midst of the song when the door opened and in walked Tony and Maria. After a few minutes' interruption, they started singing again—Tony and his wife joining in with the others.
Once the singing started there was no stopping them and for several hours they sang song after song. It was really the first time since Brookside Farm had become a reality, that they had a chance to let each other know just how happy they felt, as they gave vent to their feelings in song.
"I'm only sorry," said Bob's aunt, "that my own father and mother couldn't have lived to see the happiness and joy that has come to us. This has been the happiest Christmas Day I have ever spent."
"Bob!" called his uncle. "Come here a minute. I almost forgot to give you something. Here's a letter that John White asked me to deliver to you."
Bob took the letter, read it and then re-read it, his face a puzzle.
What is it? "asked his uncle smiling.
"I don't know," said Bob; "it's a peculiar kind of a letter, and I don't understand it at all."
"Let me see it," asked his father, and Bob handed him the letter.
After looking at it a moment, he read aloud:
"This is to certify that we have this day bought the sixty acres of land adjoining Brookside Farm, on the east, for the sum of Eighteen Hundred Dollars ($1800), to be held in trust for Robert Williams, and to be turned over to him whenever he wishes to take possession. The sum of $1800, the purchase price, to be paid to the First National Bank at his convenience and draw six per cent. interest until paid. The first payment of One Hundred Dollars ($100) on account, is hereby acknowledged. (Signed), The First National Bank, John White, President."
"What does it mean, Uncle Joe?" asked Bob, looking at his uncle, who was smiling across at him.
"Well, it simply means this, Bob: John White wanted to make sure when you got ready to buy a farm that there'd be one waiting for you. He persuaded Bruce Wallace to sell him his sixty acres adjoining Brookside on the east. He said he wanted you to have the land next to Brookside. That was the only piece that had the proper exposure and good water; besides this, he pointed out that the water from our pond runs through this also, and that there is a place there where you can have a pond of your own, if you want it."
"What about the $100 on account, Uncle Joe?" asked Bob.
"Oh," laughed his uncle, "that's your Christmas gift from John White."
Bob was silent while he tried to realize the full purport of the letter. Then he suddenly said:
"I've no money to buy a farm, Uncle Joe."
"He doesn't say that you have to take it up right away, or that you have to pay for it by any particular time. You see, Bob, since the new concrete road has been built, farms are soon going to advance in price and he wanted you to have the advantage of buying yours at the original price. He feels you are largely responsible for the improvements that have been made in this section and that you should benefit by them."
"I guess we'll have to sing Edith's 'Happy Farmer' song again," said Bob's aunt, as she seated herself at the piano and struck up the familiar air, in which they all joined with a will.