Demorratic Wald Bellefonte, Pa., June 19, 1914. A MISUNDERSTANDING. The little doll from China and the little chinadoll Sat looking at each other in surprise; ““That you were made in China,” said the first, “I can’t believe, For, you see, you have such funny, round blue eyes.” “But I am made of china,” said the haughty little blonde; “lI don’t know why my word you choose to doubt; And as for eyes, if mine were slanted water-mel- on seeds, . I really think I’d rather do without." The little doll from China and the little china doll ., Sat looking at each other in despair. ““Why, all the dolls in China are brunettes like me,” said one. “Oh, no; a china doll is always fair!” “But all the dolls in China have black hair that’s smooth and straight!” “You’re wrong—a china dolly’s hair is curled.” And both were right, yet both were wrong; Because, you see there are so many kinds of china in the world. —St. Nicholas. A TALE OF THE VANISHING PEOPLE. [BY REX BEACH.] P from the valley below came the throb of war drums, the faint rattle of shots and the’ distant cries of painted horse- | men charging. From my hard won | | educated at the agency school under me, and he went through his college course like a stag at the head of a’ great herd, a silent, dignified, shad- owy figure, unapproachable and mys- terious to his fellow students. In all things he excelled, but he was best perhaps in athletics, the credit for which I also took, feeling a godlike satisfaction in my work. ! my Sioux boy’s name. “News came to me of his victories . on track and field and gridiron, for his professors kept me posted, being likewise interested in my experiment, but as for him he never wrote. It was “It was in my protege’s senior year that the great thing entered his life, the thing 1 had craftily built upon spaired of. The girl entered, but in- stead of Running Elk being drawn to the woman, as I had planned. the wo- man went to him. “You've heard of old Henry Har- i not his nature, nor did he communi: ' eate with his people. : scattered out in readiness. | from the start and had well nigh de- as did the hordes of madn.en behind the first thing you've got to do is us, and I began to understand what | the old man in the seat next mine was | combating. “A dancing dervish in front of the grand stand said something through a | megaphone, then waved a cane, where- ; upon a tremendous barking ‘Rah! Rah! Rah! broke out, ending with They bellowed | and rioted over him until I wished that the cld chief back in Dakota ! were there to see his son and witness the honor he had won among the | whites. “Quite as impressive to me as this demonstration was the deathlike si- lence which settled when the teams kicked off, and the ball sailed high and far. As it settled in its down- ward flight I saw a lithe, gaunt shad- , ow of a man racing toward it and man? Yes, the railroad king. It was his daughter Alicia. “In order to understand the story : you’ll have to know something about I do. He is a self made man. He recognized my boy. 1 had lost his position for the moment. but I knew that hungry, predatory stride which devoured the fleeting yards as if he were a thing of the wind. He was off with the ball in the hollow of his arm, . back into the heart of his enemies, old Henry and believe in heredity, as came into the middle wes: as a poor | boy and by force of his indomitable pluck, ability and doggedness became a captain of industry. He is the same ‘now as when he was a section boss, and his daughter Alicia is another Henry Harman feminized. Her mother was a pampered child of Fifth avenue, born to money and a slave to her own whims, and Alicia grew up more effec- vantage on the ridge I had an unob- tively spoiled than her mother, combin- structed view of the encampment, a great circle of tepees and tents three | miles in circumference, cradled in a sag of the timberless hills. Five thousand Sioux were here in all their martial splendor, painted and | decked and trapped for war, living’ anew their tales of might and repeat- ing in mimicry their greatest battles. © Five days the feasting had continued. i Five mornings had I been awakened | at dawn to see a thousand ochered, feathered horsemen pour out of the gullies upon the camp. their horses rearing and plunging, their rides snap ping and spitting, while the valley rocked to their battlecries and to the answering clamor of the army which met them. The odors of a savage people had begun to pall on me, the sound of a strange language had begun to annoy me, and I longed for another white man or a word in my own tongue. Next to my tent was another one which had been erected during my absence, and through the flap was thrust the head of my friend, the gov- ernment doctor. : “Gee, I'm glad to see you!” I said as I shook his hand. “I’m as lonesome as a deaf mute at a song recital.” “What's the matter? Won’t the In- dians talk to you?” “I guess they would if they could, but they can’t. OQut of these 5,000 Sioux I haven’t found one who can understand a word I say, and I've tried some 4,980 of them.” The old gentleman laughed. “Your government schools have gone back in the betting with me, doc. You must keep your graduates under lock and key.” “They can all speak English if they want to—that is, the younger ones can. Some few of the old people are too proud te try, but the others ean talk as well as we can until they for- ge 93 her temper!’ ing the traits of both parents. “Well, when I got a panicky letter from one of Running EIk’s professors, coupling her name vaguely with that dodging, darting. leaping, twisting, al- ways advancing, They tore his inter- ference from him, and yet he pene- trated their ranks like an elusive, quiv- ering beam of light which none of them might lay hands upon. running free when tackied, and his as- sailant launched himself with such savage violence that the sound of | their impact came to us distinctly. As -he fell I heard Alicia Harman gasp as | if some hand had been removed from . her throat. And then the crowd gave ! tongue. , ning Elk and then only to shoot quick ! of my Indian, I wavered in my deter- mination to see this experiment out. | But the mind of the analyst is unsen- timental, and one who sets out to un- tangle the skein of the gods must pay the price, so I waited. “As if fate had really taken a part in the affair, I found a long distance 2all from old Henry Harman when 1 returned to my hotel. He had wired me here at the agency and, finding 1 was in Washington, had called we from New York. He didn’t tell me much over the phone, except that he must see me at once, and as my work was finished I took the train in the morning, going straight to his office. “ ‘Doc, I’m in an awful hole,’ he de- : clared, ‘and you're the only man who can pull me out. that savage of yours. “‘I know something about it,’ said It’s about Alicia and I, ‘and 1 feel rather to blame, for it . was I who sent him to college.’ “¢‘I won't be defied by my own flesh and blood! 1 won’t! I wont! I'm the master of my own family! Why, “From that time on to the finish of the game my eyes seldom left Run- glances at my companions. “Although the skill of the young Sioux overtopped that of all the oth- | ers, the opposing team played as one ! man, as a wonderful, well oiled piece ; of machinery, and they scored. All through the first half Yale struggled to retaliate, but at the intermission had not succeeded. “In the second half of the game the son of a Sioux chief led the men of Eli as Hannibal led his Carthaginian . cohorts up to the gates of Rome with the same irresistible progress, showing withal the military genius of a Chief Joseph. He was indefatigable, mag- | nificent, and he tied the score. “It was a grand exhibition of cool- | ness and courage, for he was every- | where, always alert and ready, and it was he who won the game finally. “There came some sort of fumble, | too fast for ithe eye to follow, and then the ball rolled out of the scrim- | mage. Before we knew what had hap- pened Running Elk was away with it, ' a scattered field ahead of him. the thing’s so absurd it's almost unbe- ! lievable, and yet it’s terrible—terrible! Heavens! What would her mother say if she were alive? “ ‘Have you talked with Alicia? “ “Not with her, to her. She’s like a mule. Yes, sir, just like a mule. ! a spectacular thing, vised by fate to make more dificult’ 1; never saw such a will in a woman. | I—I've fought her until I'm as weak ; as a cat. [I don’t know where she got He collapsed feebly, and I had to smile, for there's only one thing strong and stubborn enough to “I dare say you have heard about that run, for it occurred in the last three minutes of play and is famous in football annals to this day. It was apparently de- the labors of old Henry and me. Every living soul on those high bank- ed bleachers was on his feet at the finish, a senseless, screaming demon. I saw Alicia straining forward. her i face like chalk, her very lips blanched, overcome a Harman's resistance, and | that is a Harman’s desire. ‘“ “What does she say? _ est in the affair was increasing. bi an these aborigi- ; Doi you me lo say e aborig ‘right in the abstract and then to in- nes have been fooling me? I don’t be- Heve it,” said 1. “There is one that can’t talk English, and I'll make a bet on it.” 1 indicated a passing brave with: an eagle feather headdress reaching far down his naked legs. He was a magnificent animal—young, lithe and as tall and straight as a sap- ! go to pieces ence in awhile. ling—and was decked from head to | feet in his gorgeous panoply. “I've | tried him twice. and he simply doesn't . understand.” My friend called to the warrior: | “ ‘Nothing, except to agree that I'm form me that the abstract problems She says this—this Galloping Moose, this yelp- fng ghost dancer of yours, is the only real man she ever met.’ “ ‘What does he have to say? “‘Humph! grunted Harman, he does is to listen.’ “ ‘How old is Alicia? “ ‘Nineteen. Oh, I’ve hurled that at her, too, but she says she’ll wait! You know she has her own money from ‘All “Hey, Tom! Come here a minute,” A her mother’ The Indian came, and the doctor con- * ‘Does Running Elk come to your My inter- her whole high strung body a-quiver. Her eyes were distended, and in them I saw a look which told me that this | was no mere childish whim, that this ‘was more than the animal call of youth and sex. Running Elk had be- come a fetich to her. “The father must likewise have rec- ognized this, for as we passed out he ‘ stammered into my ear: “‘You see, Doc, the girl’s mad. awful—awful! do! “The press had separated her from It’s 1 don’t know what to ' us a bit, so I answered: ‘Get her away, quick, no matter how or where! Use . force if you have to, but get her away . and keep her away. I'll see him to- _ hight.’ tinued: . house? “When do you hold the horse races,! “At this my old friend roared so Thomas?’ | fiercely that I hastened to say: ‘I'll see | “Tomorrow, 4 o'clock, unless it, him at once. I have more influence rains,” said the fellow. “Are you going to ride?” “No. My race horse is sick.” As the ocher daubed figure vanished | my girl's life. than anybody else with him.’ “‘I hope you can show him how im- possible, how criminal it is to ruin Yes, and mine too. inte the dusk the old man turned to| Suppose the yellow papers got hold of me, saying: “Yale.” “What?” “Yale; B. A. He's a graduate.” “Impossible!” I declared. “Why, 1 could hardly understand him. He talks like a foreigner or as if he was just learning the language.” “Exactly. That halting unfamiliari- ty with English marks the death and decay of his learning. In three years more he'll be an Indian again through and through. Oh. the reservation is full of fellows like that.” The doctor continued, with a sigh: “It’s a melan- choly acknowiedgment to make, but our work seems to count for nearly nothing. It’s their blood. “I’ve heard a graduating class read theses from a platform, sing cantatas in chorus and deliver orations. Then I have seen those same young fellows three months later squatting in te- pees, grunting in their native tongues and eating with their fingers. “Some years ago I felt 1 was well on my way to success, for I found a youth who offered every promise of great manhood. 1 studied him until I knew his every trait and his every strength. He did not seem to have any weakness. I raised him under my own supervision into a tall, straight fellow as handsome as figured bronze and with a mind far in advance of his people and his years. He had the best blood of the nation in him, being the son of a war chief, and they called him Thomas Running Elk. He was this thing!” Harman shuddered. ‘Doc, I love that girl so well I'd kill her with my own hands rather than face her disgrace and see her ridiculed. * ‘She could marry a duke if one happened to come along, and I'd buy her one, too, if she wanted him, but I won't stand for this dirty, low browed Injun. “‘He’s not dirty,” I declared, ‘and he’s not as low browed as some de- generate foreigner you'd he glad to pick out for her. “ ‘Well, he’s an Injun,’ retorted Har- man, ‘an’ it'll come out on him. We've both seen ’em tried. They all drop back where they started from. You know that as well as I do.’ “‘I don’t know it, said 1, thinking of my experiment, which had gone so badly askew, ‘but we've got to put a stop to this affair in one way or an- other. I'll see the young man right away.’ “ ‘Tomorrow is Thanksgiving,’ said Henry. ‘Wait over and go up with us and see the Yale-Princeton football game. I understand Running Elk plays fullback. We'll pick you up at your hotel in the morning and drive up in the car. It’s the big game of the year, and you'll enjoy it. I don’t ex- pect to, however.’ “You have seen similar games, so there is no need of my describing this one, even if I could. As it was my first experience it impressed me greatly. When the teams appeared I recognized Running Elk at a distance, “I guess it’s our only chance,’ mum- bled the old fellow. and take her to Europe. It’s awful! “I didn’t go back to the city with them, but said goodby at the running board of their machine, finding next morning that the father had taken my | advice and that they had sailed unex- pectedly for an indefinite stay abroad. “I spent that evening with Running Elk, who seemed glad to see me. He asked all about his people, told me of his progress and spoke lightly of his! victory that day. Sound him as 1 would, I could elicit no mention of Alicia Harman's name. He wasn’t much of a talker anyhow, and at last I was forced to bring up the subject myself, whereupon the silence of his forefathers fell upon him, and all he did was listen. I told him forcibly that any thoughts of her were ridicu- lous and impossible. “ ‘Why ? said he. “I told him a thousand reasons why, recounted them cruelly, unfeelingly, but he made no sign to me. As a mat- ter of fact, I don’t think he under- stood them any more than he under- stood the affair itself. He appeared to be blinded and confused by the splen- dor of it all. ‘She was so glorious, so different, so mysterious to him that he had lost all perspective. Recogniz- ing this, I descended to material things which I knew he could grasp. “‘T paid for your education,’ said I, ‘and it is almost over with. In a few months you'll be turned out to make your living, and then you’ll encounter this race prejudice 1 speak of in a way to affect your stomach and your body. You're a poor man, Running Elk, and you've got to earn your way. Your blood will bar you from a good many means of doing it, and when your color begins to affect your earn- ing capacity you'll have all you can do to take care of yourself alone. Life isn’t played on a gridiron, and Princeton | He was | ‘rll kidnap her | make a man of yourself. You've go: no right to fill your head with insane fancies of this sort. “ ‘Yes, sir,” said he. And that was about all I could get out of him. His reticence was very annoying. “I didn’t see him again for two years. I had barely reached tne reservation when the stage from the railroad brought two women. two strange wom- en, who came straight to my office— Alicia Harman and her French maid. “Well, I was fairly knocked end- wise. But she was as well poised and self contained as on that Thanksgiving morning in New York when she and old Henry had picked me up in their automobile—a trifle more stunning and a bit more determined perhaps. Oh, she was a splendid creature, in the first glory of her womanhood, a per- fectly groumed, pulsating, spoiled ged- dess. She greeted me graciously, with that queenly air of all great ladies. * *Where is your father? I asked as I laid off her dust coat. ** ‘He is in New York.’ said she. am traveling alone.’ *“ ‘Why have you come out here, Ali- cia? I inquired slowly, being far more ill at ease than she. * Do you need to ask? she answer- ed. ‘Il respected father’s wishes when 1 was in my minority. I traveled and studied and did all the tiresome things " he wished me to as long as he had the I right to ask them of me. But when | I became my own mistress 1 took my | full freedom. He made his life to suit himself, und I am very sorry 1 cannot build wine to suit him. But we don’t seem to see things the same, and I dare say he has accepted the in- : evitable.’ | “‘Then you cousider this inevita- | 1 | ble? . | “She lifted her dainty brows. ‘In- evitable is not a good word. 1 wish it. 1 have wished it from the first. 1 have never ceased to wish it for an instant. I feel I must have it. There- fore, to all intents and purposes, it is | inevitable, I suppose.’ { *““You have—er—been in communi- cation with”— ‘“ ‘Never. Father did not wish it.’ *“ ‘Then. how did you know he is here?” | *“‘He wrote me when he left Yale that he was coming here. 1 have heard nothing since. He is here, is he not? “‘So 1 believe. I haven't seen him yet. You know I've been away my- self.’ -* ‘Will you take me to him at once? If you are too busy I will ask'— “Very well! said I. ‘We'll drive | out to the encampment.’ And I tele- phoned for my buckboard. “There was little said en our fifteen mile drive, for 1 was apprehensive, and she was oddly torn between fear and exultation. We left the French maid behind. 1 don’t know that any woman ever went to her lover under stranger circumstances or in greater , perturbation than did this girl, behind whom lay the selfishness of spoiled | womanhood and a generation of unre- straint. “It was well along in the evening when we came over the ridge and saw the encampment below us. You can imagine the fairy picture it made, with , its myriad of winking fires, the soft | effulgence of a thousand glowing tents and the wonderful magic of the night jover all. As we drew nearer the | unusual sounds of a strange merry- | making came to us, the soft thudding i of drums, the weird melody of the | dances, the stir and confusion of dense animal life. In the daylight it would ! have been picturesque, but under the ! wizard hand of the darkness it be- ' came ten times more so. | “When I finally tied my horses and | led the girl into the heart of it I think | she became a bit frightened, for these. | Indians were the Sioux of a bygone i day, all barbaric and primitive in hab- | it and dress and coloring—an atavistic i race which had shaken off some three- | score years, or some thirtyscore for all | wa knew. |" “I guided her through tne tangle or canvas habitations, through glaring fire lit circles and through black voids, where we stumbled and felt our . way, rubbing shoulders with fierce warriors or sullen squaws. At every group I asked for Running Elk, but he was one of the shifting thousands, and nobody knew his whereabouts. “At one time we came upon a sight I would gladly have spared her, the spectacle of some wrinkled hags strangling a dog. The girl at my side stifled a cry at the vision. “ ‘What are they doing? she gasped. * ‘Preparing the feast,’ I told her. * ‘Do they—really’— “ ‘Yes, said I. Come!” 1 tried to force her onward, but she would not stir until the sacri- fice had been dragged to the flames, where other carcasses were singeing among the pots .and kettles. From every side came the smell of cooking mingled with the odor of burning hair and flesh. I could bear Miss Harman panting as we went on. “After an endless search, during | which we circled half the great hoop, we came upon the trail of our man and were directed to a nearby tepee. I lifted the flap and peered within, clearing a view for Miss Harman. “We beheld a circle of half naked braves in full regalia, squatting haunch to haunch, listening to a story teller. In front of them was a con- fusion of blackened pails and vessels filled with something steaming, into which they dipped their naked fingers. Their faces were streaked and foul with traces of the dish; the air of the place was dead and reeking from their breaths. My eyes were slower than Alicia's, and so I did not distinguish our quarry at first, although a slow sigh at my ear and a convulsive clutch at my arm told me that he was there. “And then I, too, saw him. It was he ‘They eat them, who was talking and to whom the orh- ers listene.. Lui wiai «& change years had wrought: IIis voice was harsh; his face through the paitied daubs and streaks was coarser and duller than when [ knew him; his very body was more thin and shrunken than in the past. “He finished his tale while we were staring at him, the circle broke into i commendatory grunts, and he :miled in childlike satisfaction at the im- pression he had made. He leaned for- ward and, scrutinizing the litter of sooty pots, plunged his hand into the | mess. “Miss Harman stumbled buck into | the crowd a pace or two, aud her place was taken by a squaw. *‘Runnicg Elk!” 1 cailed over the heads of those next the entrance, and. seeing my face against the night. he arose and came out, stepping over the others. *“‘How do you do? 1 said. haven't forgotten me, have you? “He towered head and shoulders above me, his feather headdress add- ing to his stature, the beaded patterns of his war hurness bright ia the light. “‘No, no! 1 wili never forget you, doctor. You—ynu have been sick? The change in marked as in his body and habits. He halted over his words and mouthed them hesitatingly. : **Yes, pretty sick. are you doing? “‘I do what the rest do,’ said he— ‘nothing. 1 have some horses and a few head of cattle; that is all’ “*Are you satisfied with that sort of life? 1 demanded sharply, at which he hesitated an instant before answer- ing. “‘Yes, 1 am satisfied. dian.’ ? “*And so your education didn’t: do You any good after all?’ “This time he paused a long while before answering. “‘lI have dreams, said he, ‘many dreams. But I am a Sioux, and you told me that dreams are out of place in an Indian, so I hope to forget them along with all the rest.’ “A woman’s voice which I did not recognize called to me sharply, and as I went Running Elk bowed his head and slunk back through the tepee door into the heart of his people—irto the past—and with him went my ex- periment. Since then I have never meddled with the gods or given them cause to laugh at me.” “What became of him?” 1 inquired. “That was he I asked about the sorse races, the man whom you couidn’t un- derstand. the fellow who wouldn't talk to you!” the old man answered. “Good Lord!” said I. “Why don't you ask about the girl?” said he. ‘“Haven’t you any sympathy for her?” “Not much,” I replies slowly, “for her course was obvious. I seem to see a more pathetic figure by far. It is that of a youth from whose eyes the bandages of tradition and training and heredity had been suddenly whip- ped—a youth forced out from the darkness of all the ages into a daz- zling, incomprehensible world. I seem to see him, awestruck and timid, grop- ing forward till he laid his hand upon a still more miraculous thing, but real and tangible thing which he could understand and which made a god of him. Then [ see that thing snatched away and see his enly guide desert him, leaving him utterly naked and alone in the center of a universe which had no place for him. Can you wonder that he went back whence he had come, where he hail fitted in, where he understood and was under- stood ?” “Then ycu don’t think my experi- ment failed, after all?’ inquired the doctor. “You haven't proved that it did,” I maintained, “for 1 would have done just what Running Elk did if 1 had been in his place, and so would you.” The old fellow looked out grimly into the night. “Perhaps,” said he. Suez Canal. The Suez canal connects the Medi- terranean with the Red sea, shorten- ing the route to India from England and America more than 5,000 miles. It was commenced in 1850 and com- pleted in 1869. Length 100 miles; average breadth, 329 feet; depth, 26 feet. Cost in gold, $65,000,000. Dis- tances: English channel to Calcutta, via Cape Good Hope, 13,000 miles; via canal, 8,000. New York to Cal- cutta, via Cape Good Hope, 14,600 miles; via canal, 9,500. ‘You And you--what I am an In- * Irrigation Term in Hawall. “Man’s water” is an irrigator’s term in common use in Hawaii. It signifies the amount of water that one irrigator can properly handle in the field. It , varies greatly, being dependent upon the condition of the furrows, the age of the crop, and the skill and indi- viduality of the irrigator. It may be almost any quantity under one second- : foot, which is approximately two- thirds of a million gallons every 24 hours. —— Keep Ice Long Time. | A simple method of keeping ice is to draw a piece of thick flannel tightly | over a bowl, or other deep vessel, and fasten it securely. Place the ice on top of this and cover with auother piece of flannel. The ice will keep and even freeze to the flannel. A small piece of ice may be kept in the room all night, saving many steps back and forth to the refrigerator. To break the ice, force in a.large needle or hatpin; it will divide the ice easily. For a Useful Life. Have a fixed purpose in life; one that means something, and something that is worthy of you, and then make your whole life hinge about it. LWO his speech was as | : . FARM NOTES. —The flea beetle usually attacks the | young plants as soon as they are set, do- | ing much damage. | —A well-bred mare to a stallion of the | best type will bring a colt worth as much | at weaning time as a grade colt would | bring at maturity, sometimes a lot more. —In our grandfather’s day fruit trees i were allowed to grow tall and the lower | branches were cut away. Now the order iis reversed. The desirable tree is low and wide-spreading, being more con- {venient for spraying and harvesting. | There is also less damage from strong i winds. i —Sunlight is one of the best and cheap- i est disinfectants at our disposal, and we | should take advantage of this fact at | every opportunity. In the construction | of barns or shelters of any kind for ani- i mals, ample provision should be made for ; the admission of the maximum amount ; of sunlight. Scuthern exposure is de- , sirable, that is, having the majority of ‘the windows facing the south. The warmth this provides in cold weather is desirable, and much of the excessive “heat in summer can be avoided by pro- viding suitable curtains or screens, Most disease germs are easily killed by direct sunlight, as has been repeatedly shown by experiments. —Speaking in a broad way, drainage and any similar operation might be in- cluded under soil tillage; but, in tte usual acceptance of the term, “soil till- age” refers only to the operations nec- essary to the preparation of cultivatable soil for the planting of crops, and to the subsequent processes necessary in bring- ing these crops to maturity. The prin- cipal reasons for all care and tillage of the soil are: To provide a home or growing place for the desired crop; to liberate plant food; to conserve soil moisture; and to destroy weeds. With proper tillage we are able to overcome or modify adverse climatic conditions, and by it we may improve conditions already favorable. —In digging a tree, preserve as many of the roots as possible, especially the fine roots which feed the larger ones. Do not let these roots dry in the sun or wind. They should be protected with burlap, canvas, or straw until they are set in the ground. This is especially true of evergreens. Exposure of the roots to the sun or wind for one minute will set ‘the resin in the root and stop further development of the plant. This is a mat- ter that does not seem to be well under- stood, or at least heeded, by our tree planters. Thousands of evergreens are destroyed each year by careless handling, either in the nursery or, as in the usual case, by the planter. One cannot be too careful in handling either the evergreen or the hardwood trees to keep the roots from drying. —The teaching of agriculture in the public schools is not a fad but the in- evitable result of our development. We have been making progress in this direc- tion for four hundred years and the time has arrived when the promotion of edu- | cation in scientific agriculture must be conducted through the public schools as well as through the special agricultural schools that have been established. Agricultural colleges, experiment sta- . tions, technical schools of agriculture, agricultural papers, farmers’ institutes, : short courses, and othersimilar activities | have accomplished much but they are now insufficient without the aid of the public schools. The study of agriculture has a distinct value as mental training which improves the quality of the school work sufficiently to justify its use even if we disregard the great value of the in- formation obtained. The fear that it could not be taught was quickly shown to be groundless be- cause it is actually being taught and very successfully in a great many places. i Certain useless portions of arithmetic, grammar, physiology, and other studies may readily be supplanted by more prac- tical work in agriculture, home-making, and other subjects relating to the every- day life of the students. In the rural schools the many things that may be done or studied include counting the stand of corn, saving and storing seed corn, corn-judging, corn- testing, planter-testing, preparing the seed for the planter, the preparation of the seed bed, growth of the corn plant, processes of cultivation, the history of corn and a study of what becomes of the corn crop, the study of weeds, the harm they do, and the means of getting rid of them, study of poultry and other live stock, and the study of the small grains. —A. V. Storm. —The mother’s milk should be fed the first week, beginning when the calf is twenty-four to thirty-six hours old. The milk must be fresh and warm, about 95 to 100 degrees Fahrenheit, and must al- ways be fed from a clean pail, preferably a tin pail. A wooden pail is too hard to keep sweet and clean. The second week whole milk from any cow may be fed, and the third week, if the calf is in good health and growing nicely, the change to skim milk may be begun. Do not make the mistake of feeding more skim milk simply because the cream is removed. The whole milk contains about as much protein as the calf can handle and when skim milk is fed in large quantities the calf gets more than he can use, and as a consequence a sick calf is the result. The change from whole milk to skim milk must be gradual; from one-half to one and one-half pounds a day, depend- ing upon the size and vigor of calf.- To an average calf, two weeks old, we would feed about twelve pounds a day of whole milk. The first day of the third week, or when it is desirable to begin the change, the daily feed would be eleven pounds of whole milk and one pound of skim milk; the second day, ten pounds of whole milk and two pounds of skim milk, and so on until the complete change is made. It is just as essential to feed the skim milk warm as the whole milk, although when the calf gets larger and stronger, six to ten weeks old, a gradual change to cold milk may be made. Allow the calf a clean, airy paddock or box stall in which to get exercise. Give him some well cured hay,such as timothy and clover, or timothy alone, as soon as he will eat it, which will be when he is from three to four weeks old. Alfalfa in small quantities may be fed, but with this roughage there is danger of the Sais eating more than he can properly igest. ? Grain may be fed as soon as he will take it, and for this purpose a mixture of bran and crushed oats or crushed oats alone is recommended.—Prof. A. B. Nystrom, Washington.
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